


Heirlooms

by StainedGlassSpecs



Category: The Haunting of Hill House (TV 2018), The Haunting of Hill House - Shirley Jackson
Genre: Canon Pairings (background), Clairvoyant family, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Nell is eternally sick of everyone's shit, No character bashing, Original Character(s), Sibling Bonding, Trauma, they are all flawed and lovely in their own way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-08-06 10:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 85,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16386458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StainedGlassSpecs/pseuds/StainedGlassSpecs
Summary: A year after their last confrontation with Hill House, the Crains are still relearning how to be a family. In some ways, it's better - Luke's clean, Theo's engaged, and Shirley's marriage has no more secrets - but their father and sister are still dead, and Steve is more distant than ever.When the youngest member of their family starts to present with some very familiar abilities, they soon realize that their problems did not start with Hill House, and they are certainly far from over.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The fandom is so new and tiny, but this show is incredible and I need more. Complex and devoted sibling relationships plus horror themes are like crack to me, so this was inevitable. Can't wait to see some more content in this little corner of the internet!

_There_

___

The woods were beautiful in autumn. They were also off limits, but sometimes Luke and Nell would sneak out to a spot that only they knew, away from everyone else. There, they made a fort among the red trees, dragging sticks and pieces of bark up against a tree to create just enough space for two small children. Nell filled in the gaps with clumps of grass and flowers, but dappled sunlight still snuck through, casting little spots of light across the dirt. She put a button in each sunspot, pressing them into the damp earth with her fingers. One of the spots fell on Luke’s paper, so she put a button there, too.

“Hey! I’m drawing there.”

“I’m helping, see? This yellow button is the sun!”

He scowled and pushed it off with his crayon. “I’m not drawing the sky. I’m drawing a tree.”

She sighed and flopped to the side. “Trees are boring. I want you to draw _me_ again.”

“I’ve already drawn you, like, fifty million times.”

“Not dancing!” She hopped to her feet and struck a ballerina pose, one leg held out to the side and her arms in a loose circle above her head. “Here, draw me like this!”

“You couldn’t stay still long enough.”

“I can too, watch me.” She held the pose for about three seconds before toppling over. Luke laughed at her and Nell laughed, too. She crawled back over on her hands and knees. “Okay, then draw all of us. We can use the buttons for heads. I’ll have a purple one, Shirl can have blue, Theo can have red, and Steve can have … um…”

“Pink!” Luke said. They broke into giggles again.

They stayed there until the sun started to set, drawing and playing. When the sunspots started to fade, Luke shivered. “It’s getting cold.”

“Yeah.” Nell glanced over her shoulder. Back through the trees, she saw the lights of the house flash. Once, twice. She stuck her lower lip out.

“Do you have to go?” Luke asked, his voice going quiet and sad.

“Uh huh. Mommy wants me to come home.”

He looked at her hopefully. “Maybe Mommy can come see me next time, too?”

Nell wrapped her arms around her knees and shook her head. “Mommy’s sick right now. She can’t see anyone.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But it’s okay, I’m looking after her. I’m gonna make her better. I make her tea in my cup of stars, and it fixes her. Mrs Dudley showed me how.”

“Are you sure you won’t get sick, too?”

She scratched at the dark spots of dirt on her hands. “I won’t. I get to come out and play with you, so that makes me stay healthy.”

He sniffed. “Okay.”

They both stood up and wrapped their arms around each other’s necks, squeezing tightly and rocking back and forth until they nearly fell over again. “Bye Nellie,” Luke said as he let go. She waved at him and started walking away, back home towards the house.

It was fully dark by the time she reached the front porch. The windows glowed with warm light, and though she couldn’t see anyone, there was a low murmur of voices as everyone came home. Her mom had made the house so much nicer and comfier than before. Everyone loved her mom. Now that her dad was here too, it was almost as good as a forever home.

Nellie ran through the front door, her bare feet echoing across the floor. She knew by now which rooms were nice and warm, and which were bad and cold. The nicest room was the lounge with the fireplace. This was where her mother sat, a book open on her lap. She looked up and smiled at her daughter entered the room, putting the book aside to let Nellie climb onto her knee.

“Hi, baby girl,” she said, wrapping her arms around her. Her sleeves were the softest green velvet. “Did you have a fun afternoon in the woods?”

“Yeah. I made a house, just like this one.”

“With Luke?” Mom stroked her hair, combing out the knots and tangles.

“Mm-hmm.”

“That’s wonderful. You should have invited him around for dinner, so I could see him.”

Nellie frowned and pulled back. “Mommy, Luke can’t come here yet. Remember?”

“I’d make all his favourite things,” she said, staring ahead with a wistful smile on her face. “We’d have a nice family dinner, and everyone could come. Steve, and Shirley, and Theo, too. But I’d so love to see Luke …”

The room was not quite so warm anymore, and her mother’s arms weren’t so soft. She could feel eyes on her from the shadows, predators sensing prey. Nellie put her hands on her mother’s face, trying to hold her attention. “They’re very busy, Mommy. They’re happy and safe, but busy with their jobs and families. They can’t come to the house yet. Okay?”

“Okay, sweetie.”

Nellie slid off her lap. Her mother’s fingers fell from her hair, the long strands catching on her nails. Nellie hugged herself. “Where’s Daddy?”

“Hmm? I’m not sure, sweetie. He’s around somewhere.” Her eyes focused suddenly on Nellie, razor-sharp. “Where are you going?”

Nellie backed out of the room. “I’m gonna find Daddy. I’ll be back for dinner.”

Her mother didn’t say anything, just kept watching. Another pair of eyes hovered over her shoulder, but Nellie couldn’t see who they belonged to. She ran out of the room and down the hall, past the rows of statues.

“Daddy? _Daddy?!”_

There was no answer. As she ran, she grew bigger. She still felt like a little girl, but this was not the time for innocence. She had to find help, her mother needed help. She held up the hem of her dress to avoid tripping, darting from room to room, wild and desperate. Dark figured loomed at her from the doorways and corners. She dodged around them, not stopping long enough to see their faces. One of them suddenly appeared in front of her, and she slammed right into it with a shriek.

“Hey, hey? What’s going on, why are you running?” Her father’s hands held her shoulders, solid and stable. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said. “It’s nothing, just … Mom’s not feeling well. Have you seen my cup of stars?”

He squinted at her. "I don't think so."

Nell felt her eyes well with tears. "I need to find it, okay, Mom needs it. I need to give her stars."

He wrapped an arm around her. Already, she could feel the house growing lighter and warmer once again. “Yeah, sure, we’ll go find it. We’ll help Mom. Don’t you worry.”

Nell leaned into him, soaking up his warmth with the same plaintive need that she’d held Luke earlier. Her dad was here and present, but Luke was alive and vibrant. She was missing pieces of both of them, and pieces of herself. Nell knew it would always be that way for as long as she stayed in this House. Even now, she could feel herself splintering across its rooms and layers, spread across time and space. Its walls stretched endlessly around her, eternal and omnipresent.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven,_ she whispered to herself, and heard Luke echoing it back across the void. _Not infinite. Not forever. Just for now. Just one moment in time._

___

_Here_

_

_Alan’s favourite part of the day was after school. This was because it was his only opportunity to truly be alone. It was a twenty-minute walk home, for someone with enough motivation and a sprightly step, but Alan always took his time. He dawdled through the quiet suburban streets, kicking up rocks and gravel as he went, thinking of nothing in particular. When he got to their tiny, ramshackle house at the end of Winifred Lane, there would be chores and questions and loud little brothers and sisters all wanting his attention. But for right now, he belonged to no one but himself._

Steve squinted at the last paragraph he’d written, re-reading it a few times. Each time sounded more awful than the last. Swearing to himself, he leaned back and rubbed his eyes.

“Everything okay?” Leigh asked, leaning over from the kitchen to look at him. She was doing a few quick dishes before heading off to work, stacking them carelessly on the draining board.

He waved his hand. “Yeah, yeah. Just forgotten how to use the English language.”

“Bullshit,” she laughed.

Steve shook his head. “I don’t get it. Everything I was writing before was basically fiction. Why is actual fiction so much harder?”

Leigh came over to stand behind him and read over his shoulder, drying her hands on a towel. Once upon a time, she would have flicked some water playfully at his ear and draped her arms around his neck. Now, she tucked her elbows in and didn’t touch him. They were still figuring out how to do ‘second chances’ and she was always careful not to throw too much of herself on the line. He ached for their old, easy familiarity, but didn’t say anything, allowing her to read in silence.

“It’s good,” she said, straightening back up.

“It’s shit. You know it’s shit. Don’t pretend this isn’t shit, Leigh.”

“It’s different,” she corrected. “You’re trying something new, so it’s bound to be a little stilted. But it’s only a first draft, you’ll get there.”

He swung around to give her a sceptical look, but she just raised an eyebrow. “Hon, if I thought it was actually shit, I’d tell you.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

Leigh dropped a kiss on his head and then went back to the kitchen, gathering up her phone and keys. “Ok, so I’m not going to hang around here and participate in a famous novelist’s pity party. I’ll see you at the appointment after work, okay?”

Steve, who was already distracted with the word document again, had to do a double-take. “Appointment?”

“Yeah, at the clinic. To talk about donors. Remember?” She paused, eyeing him warily.

Steve felt an old, painful swoop in his stomach, but it was easy enough to ignore. “Of course. I’ll see you there.” He smiled reassuringly.

Once Leigh had left, he sighed and turned back to what was supposed to be his new, ghost-free, exploitation-free novel. The characters were all original, and there would be no _Based on a Terrifying True Story!_ heading up the blurb once it was published (if it ever got published). And yet, no matter how hard he tried, Steve still felt like he was plundering his own childhood for inspiration. It was a self-insert in everything but name, and he was slowly being forced to confront the fact that he didn’t have an original bone in his body.

He could never show this to Shirl. She’d laugh her ass off at him.

Procrastinating, Steve opened up his email account. There was a new message from his agent, asking for an update ( _you and me both, pal_ , Steve thought bitterly), and a new batch of fanmail that went unopened. Most of it was from the same three or so people anyway. He was in the process of deleting some of the creepier ones, when a new message popped up. At first glance, it looked like another piece of fanmail, with **_lake house Haunting_** written in the subject line. But when he clicked on it, he found something else entirely.

_Dr Mr Crain,_

_I am writing to you with a proposal. I admire your work on hauntings and other preternatural phenomena, and wanted to talk to you about an experience I had_.

Steve rolled his eyes. Worse than fanmail, then. A _pitch_. He’d tweeted months ago that he wouldn’t be writing about hauntings anymore, or in fact, anything biographical in nature. He didn’t have what one might call a thriving fanbase, but that tweet had managed to upset a lot of people. It seemed that some of them refused to get the memo.

_For a few years, my fiancé and I rented a house in Maine, which was by a lake. It was owned by the Quell family, but we never met them. I don’t think they lived there for years. It was a beautiful little place, built around the turn of the century. For the first couple of months after we moved in, it was perfect. We even thought about starting a family there. But then, everything changed …_

Steve didn’t bother reading past the printed ellipses. Even if he was still publishing people’s ghost stories, he wouldn’t give this one the time of the day.

He was about to delete it, when something drew his eye back to the text. _Quell family_. He frowned. The name snagged on the edge of a memory, but he couldn’t place which one. He was certain he didn’t know anyone with that surname. And yet …

Steve’s eyes were drawn to a family photo on his desk. It was one of the seven of them, before they’d moved into Hill House. It was sun-bleached and cracked with age, a relic of a time he barely remembered. He’d very deliberately placed it there a few months ago, despite the bittersweet sting it caused. He’d allowed himself to feel comfortable for far too long, secure in his knowledge of the world and his family, and he’d almost lost them as a result. So the photo stayed, and as he forced himself to look at it every day, it got a little easier to remember and to grieve.

He avoided his father's face. It reminded him of all the secrets he'd inherited, which he barely understood but drove yet another wedge between him and his siblings. Instead, he focused on his mother. She looked beautiful and happy, caught mid-laugh as she struggled to hold a squirming Nellie.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Steve pulled his phone out and texted Shirl. _Weird question but do you remember mom’s maiden name?_

It took her less than a minute to reply. _Why?_

That one little word contained so much suspicion. He rolled his eyes again. _Passing thought. Not for writing purposes_.

Another few seconds passed. _McAllister. Jesus Steve, you can’t remember our mother’s maiden name?_

He let out a breath and ignored the rest of her text. McAllister. Not Quell. Of course.

He tried to get back to his shitty, not-family-related novel, but the photo kept catching his eye. The name fluttered in his mind like a loose thread. Sighing, he texted Shirl again. _What about her mother? Grandma Mary, what was her maiden name?_

One minute turned into two, and then three. Steve tapped his fingers on the desk, trying to ignore the low whine in his ears and the itch beneath his skin.

Still, when Shirley finally replied, he nearly dropped the phone. _I think it was Quill or something. What’s this about?_

Heart in his throat, Steve opened up the email again and read it through. It was a fairly drab story of strong wind and flickering lights, with the odd laundry basket upended in the bedroom. But the name was there, and the location was close enough. He had a distant memory of his mom talking about her family in Maine. They’d never met them, though. Aunt Janet was the only extended family they’d really had, after Grandma Mary passed away.

His phone rang, Shirley no doubt looking for answers. He ignored the call and waited a minute before texting her back. _Just looking at some old photographs. Thanks._ Well, it wasn’t a lie.

Steve shouldn’t bother with this. He knew that. What did it matter if some idiot twenty-something rented a house that their distant family happened to own? He needed to focus on his current work, this novel that would be the renewal of his career. Whatever information this woman wanted to share, it wasn’t for him to know.

And yet.

He looked at the photo again, and it seemed for a moment that the room was too still and too quiet. He went very still and tried not to look too hard at the corners of the room. It seemed likely, inevitable even, that there might be something watching him from just beyond his peripheral, waiting for him to take the next step. Maybe there were dozens of ghosts at his back, or just a couple who really mattered. He could feel a headache coming on. The buzzing in his ears got worse.

There was a sharp _bang_ behind him, and he spun around.

There was no one. Of course. There never was. It was just one of the chopping boards Leigh had left out to dry, slipping off a pile of wet crockery onto the bench.

Steve swore to himself and slammed the laptop shut, pain throbbing in his head and his chest.


	2. Remnants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your comments and support, guys <3

It was almost nine o’clock, and Theo was halfway into her tightest pair of jeans when she realised that she didn’t want to leave the house. It wasn’t a sense of fear or anxiety; it was just sheer, petulant laziness.  _I don’t wanna._  Bewildered by this sudden urge, she flopped back down on the bed, her jeans still strung about her ankles.

“Honey, we’re going to be late. Carter’s playing at half-nine.” Trish’s stilettos clomped into the room. She paused at the sight of her half-dressed fiancée. “Are you okay? Did you get stuck?”

Theo kicked the jeans off impatiently. “No.”

“Then what are you doing?” she said, amused.

Theo spread her arms over the comforter, getting comfortable. “Nothing. Hey, maybe we should just stay in tonight. What do you think?”

Trish peered around the room, as if looking for the Real Theo who must be hiding somewhere. “Um, I think you’ve had a very sudden change of heart? What happened to ‘needing a night off’ and ‘being all young and irresponsible’ again?”

Theo grinned and tugged on her belt loop. “We can be irresponsible right here.”

Trish allowed herself to be reeled in, but kept her arms folded, trying to repress a smile. “What about Carter?”

“Oh, fuck Carter. He’s shitty DJ anyway.”

“Hey! He’s my cousin!”

“Search your heart, babe. You know it to be true.”

Trish gave up and straddled her lap, giggling as Theo started kissing her neck. “Okay, okay, but really. What’s gotten into you?”

Theo sighed and leaned in. “I don’t know. I just, like, looked at myself in five hours, dancing at some sweaty club, and then I looked at the other future which was just sitting at home with you and a crappy movie, and the second option just looked so much _better_. You know?”

Trish blinked at her for a moment, then threw her head back and laughed. “Oh my God, you’re so _old_!”

“What? I am not!”

“You are! So old and domestic. It’s adorable.”

Theo narrowed her eyes and flipped Trish onto her back. Her fiancée just laughed harder as her head bounced off the mattress. “You think you’re pretty funny, huh? Well, could an old lady do this?”

“I’ve met some pretty tough old ladies,” Trish said, propping herself up by the elbows. Her face was an inch away from Theo’s. “But none of them were as sexy as you.”

“You’re so sweet.” Theo kissed her, pushing her slowly back down on the bed and running her bare fingertips over her neck and shoulders. Her skin, her bones, and everything else all the way down to her beating heart felt warm and safe, more than anyone else Theo had ever touched. Or maybe it was just that Theo had never opened up to anyone quite like this before. On the surface, Trish smelled of some lush fragrance, and her cheekbones glittered in the low lamplight. She smiled, and her lips were painted dark red. It was almost a shame to mess up her makeup, but Theo didn’t care. She also didn’t care how pathetic or domestic it was, she knew this was the right way to spend her night.

She was just halfway through getting Trish’s pants off – which, in her eagerness, really _did_ get stuck – when her phone started ringing.

“Not the buzz I was after,” Theo grumbled, sparing it a glance. She would have happily ignored it, but the caller ID (Shirl) made her groan and sit back up.

“Seriously?” Trish gasped.

“I am contractually obligated to answer my siblings’ calls at all times, not matter how fucking stupid they may be,” Theo reminded her. She grabbed the phone with one hand, keeping the other one on Trish’s thigh. “ _What_ ,” she demanded.

“ _Hello to you, too,”_ Shirly said. She sounded way too miffed for this to be a genuine emergency, so Theo’s mood was not improved. _“Are you at home right now?”_

“Just heading out, actually,” Theo sniped. Trish swatted her hand.

 _“Well your mini-me has something to ask you, and won’t go to bed until she does._ ” She heard Shirl take a sip of something that was probably mineral water. “ _Please, for the sake of my sanity, just let her talk to you for half a minute.”_

Theo shot Trish an apologetic look. She smiled and got off the bed to finish getting changed. “You know what, for Ally, I’ll give a full eighty seconds.”

There was a static-y noise on the line as it changed hands. _“Hi Aunt Theo!”_

“Hey there. You causing trouble for your mom?”

_“Only a little bit.”_

“’Atta girl. Now what’s the big news?”

_“Well okay, so today I was at a garage sale, and this lady was selling her old gloves, so I got ‘em. I have forty dollars of pocket money now, and these gloves were only twenty-five cents. But ok, so I put them on and I get MAJOR feelings. Like, SO MANY feelings.”_

“Really?” Theo was trying very hard to maintain her Child Psychologist voice, while thinking about how weird it was the way children interpreted things. “What kind of feelings?”

_“I dunno, there were so many. But they were BIG. You know?”_

“Okay, well, I’m very happy for you.”

 _“But then I was looking at this dumb box that Jayden got, it had Spiderman on it and he was too embarrassed to say he liked it, because it’s for babies, but he got it anyway. So, then I touched_ that _and it was different.”_

“Different how?” Theo stifled a yawn. Jesus, it was barely nine. She really was getting old.

The line went silent for a moment. When Ally’s voice came back, it was quieter. _“It just had one feeling. It was sad.”_

Theo frowned and sat up. “Sad, huh? What makes you say that?”

_“I dunno. It just was sad. Do boxes get sad sometimes?”_

Theo tried not to overthink this. It was just a little girl making sense of the world in a completely normal way. And yet … “Did you tell your mom about the sad box?”

 _“No, she’d just say I was being overimaginative. But you know things she doesn’t. Do you think boxes can get sad?”_ she demanded once again.

Theo took a deep breath and let it out. “I wouldn’t say that boxes get sad, but sometimes people feel things so much that it leaves … a mark. Like fingerprints, or when Jayden farts and you smell it when he leaves the room.”

Ally guffawed. So did Trish. Theo winked at her. “It’s nothing to be scared of, but still. You should tell your mom if you feel things like that again. Okay?”

 _“Okay.”_ She went quiet again. _“Will you touch the box too, next time you visit? See if it feels anything else?”_

Theo sighed. “Sure, I’ll do that. I’ll be around on Sunday, remember?”

_“Okay! See ya, love ya, bye!”_

“See ya, love ya, bye,” Theo intoned. The phone clicked off before she had a chance to speak to Shirley again. She dropped the phone and stared down at her hands, turning them back and forth. Trish folded herself in beside her, but hung back, not touching.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah.” The word sounded hollow. “I’m just worried that she might be more like me than I realised.”

Carefully, Trish linked their fingers together. Theo felt nothing but warmth and safety “Then she’s a lovely, brave little girl. And she’s got the best person to help her figure it all out.”

Theo allowed herself to be held for a moment, then gently disentangled herself. “I’m gonna grab a drink. You want one?”

Trish blinked for a moment, then smiled sadly. Disappointed. “I’m good.”

Theo tucked her hands under her elbows as she left the room.

_

The last Sunday of every month night was Family Dinner Night. It was the biggest pain in Theo’s ass, but she didn’t begrudge Shirley for insisting. Besides, a part of her missed living with her sister’s family, and it gave her an excuse to come back.

That was no longer an option, even if she’d wanted to. Luke had taken up residence back in the guest house since getting out of rehab, and it was going a lot better than Theo had expected. Better than last time, at any rate. It was good to check in with him every month, too.

Trish had a shift at the tattoo parlour on Sunday, so she couldn’t make it. She kissed her goodbye on the way out the door, slightly hesitant after a full weekend of dealing with Theo’s brooding. Theo felt guilty, then got angry at herself. There was no use in acting in a shitty way, then apologising for it, only to keep acting shitty. That was Steve and Luke’s schtick. She’d rather commit to her actions from the get-go, even when they were awful. With Trish, she’d tried to be genuinely better, but sometimes she tripped over her own walls.

Theo promised herself to make it up to Trish once she’d spoken to Ally and gotten some answers. Hopefully not the ones she was afraid of.

She got there early, only to find Shirley alone on the porch with a glass of wine. She raised it at Theo in greeting as she approached. Theo raised her eyebrow at the wine. “That’s my line.”

Shirl shrugged her shoulder. “Thought I’d get a head start before you drank it all.”

“Rude.” She took a seat beside her sister. “Where is everyone?”

“Kevin’s finishing the cooking, and the kids are watching a movie inside. I just needed a minute.”

Shirley has always needed time to herself. That was one thing they’d always had in common. The two of them enjoyed the silence for a few minutes, rocking slowly back and forth on the deck chair until the air got dark and cool. Theo tried to find a way to tell Shirley that her daughter may or may not have the same ‘sensitivity’ that had all but ruined their lives in different ways. She told herself it might be nothing, and that she should actually talk to Ally before making any kind of rash judgements. _Coward_ , a voice hissed in the back of her head.

“You hear from Steve lately?” she asked, just to distract herself.

Shirley made a face. “He texted me the other day, then ignored all my follow-up calls. He’s been acting squirrely, and I want to pin him down.”

“Squirrely?” That could mean anything, with Steve. He’d been less of an ass lately, but more tight-lipped than ever. As far as she knew, he was the last one who saw their dad before he died of an apparent heart-attack, but he hadn’t said more than two words about it since. Old Theo would have given him the silent treatment and Old Shirl would have screamed at him, but they both knew it wasn’t worth it. Better to leave it be, and let Steve keep his secrets on the other side of the country.

“He was asking me about family history. I don’t like it.”

Theo made a face. “You want to pick a fight about _that_?”

“No! I’m not going to pick a fight. I just want to know what’s going on.”

“Like there’s a difference.” She glanced over at the guest house. “And will Luke be joining us tonight?”

She huffed. “He’ll roll out of bed long enough to make an appearance, I’m sure.”

Theo looked at her, alarmed. “Is he ok?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a relapse or anything, he’s just been mopey.” Theo rolled her eyes at Shirley referring to clinical depression as ‘mopey’ but didn’t interrupt. “And sometimes …” she broke off, biting her lip.

“What?” Theo demanded.

“Sometimes I hear him talking to himself. Like Dad used to. He stops when I walk in. I don’t know if it’s just a coping mechanism for everything, or if there’s something else going on, but it worries me.” She shot Theo a wide-eyed look. “I’ve had enough of weird shit.”

Theo almost told her that they’d never be done with the weird shit, but she was pretty sure Shirl knew that, deep down. Reluctantly, she stood up. “Dinner smells almost-ready. I’ll go excavate Luke.” She bent down and stole Shirley’s wine glass, ignoring her indignant noises. “Thanks.”

“You are such a bitch.”

“You love me and miss me,” Theo said, walking away.

“Do not!”

Theo smirked as she approached the guest house. There was no noise from inside, but a light had been turned on. Sighing, she rapped on the glass a couple of times. “Luke? It’s me.” There was no answer. “Fine, I’m coming in.”

The door was unlocked, which she knew was one of Shirley’s Rules. She flicked the light on. “Luke? You in here?”

There was a noise from the bed. Theo noted the lump covered in blankets, and made her way over. The place was a lot sparser that when she’d lived there. No expensive electronics anywhere in sight. It smelled different, and not great. “Hey. Hibernation’s over. Come on out and be human.”

He flicked the covers back enough for her to see his face and rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?” he croaked.

“Family dinner time.” She perched herself on the edge of the bed and downed the rest of her wine.

He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t think I can …”

“Nope. Non-negotiable. If I have to suffer then so do you.” She shoved the lump of blankets. It felt weird to be nagging like this. She’d given up on being a mom-figure pretty much as soon as he’d started shutting them out. Steve and Shirley had tried for years to be Luke’s parents, and it hadn’t gotten them anything except disappointment and resentment. She’d had enough of her own shit to deal with, and Luke had fallen pretty hard on the other side of her iron-clad boundaries. Even now, she was tempted to leave him be and make his own decisions. But she was trying very hard at this ‘not being shitty’ thing, and he was trying pretty hard himself. It was worth the effort. Probably. “You having a shit day, or what?”

He frowned and shook his head. “Nah. Just tired.”

“Well, when I get that tired, it means I’m having a shit day.”

He sighed. “Little bit, I guess. It’ll pass.”

She noticed an open notebook on the writing desk, and stood up to have a closer look. To her surprise, there were some half-done watercolour pictures littered around the desk. They were nice and generic-looking – trees, mountains, some people in various poses with indistinct faces – and Theo felt her cold little heart warm at the sight of them. She’d forgotten how much Luke liked to draw. “These are good,” she said.

He made an embarrassed noise and rolled over.

Theo pulled one out from the bottom of the pile, and her heart dropped suddenly. It was barely a sketch, indistinct and surreal. But there was no mistaking the dancing figures in the middle of a ballroom. She’d recognise the sweep of Nell’s wedding gown anywhere. Looking at his other pictures, she suddenly saw Nell in many of the blank, half-drawn faces. She saw herself, too (gloved hands, clutching a ladder), and Mom, Dad, Shirl and Steve, but there were more Nells than anyone else. She brushed her fingers over the paper and got a sudden rush of bittersweet emotion.

 _“Sometimes I hear him talking to himself,”_ Shirley had said.

“Theo?” Luke asked. He’d gotten out of bed and was standing across the room, arms folded tightly around his stomach. For a second, he looked six years old again, desperate for her to tell him everything was okay.

Theo put the picture down carefully. “Do you see her?”

He paused, and swallowed before answering. “Sometimes.”

“Do you … feel her? Like, in your head, like you used to?”

To her surprise, he gave a tiny smile. “More than I used to.”

“Really?”

He shrugged and stepped up beside her, looking over the pictures. “I think maybe the drugs were keeping her out. Or maybe all the other bullshit in our heads. That’s all gone now.”

Theo felt her throat tighten. “But she’s _dead_.”

“Not gone, though.”

The echoed words made her grimace. They didn’t talk about that last night in the House. They made unspoken promises and tried to be less shitty to each other, but they never, ever talked about it. Theo sometimes doubted if they all remembered it the same way. There was one thing she was quite sure of, though, and it was important that Luke knew. “Just hear me out for a minite, okay? When she died, and I saw her in Shirley’s lab, I touched her. I knew it was a bad idea, but I still did it. Stupid ol' me. Anyway, what I felt …” She clenched her fists, the memory still making her shudder. “It was just nothing. Dark, cold, empty _nothing._ ”

Luke was silent beside her. Theo turned to glare at him. “Nell’s in your head, I get that. But Nell’s dead. That emptiness, is that what you feel, all the time?”

He frowned at his feet. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try,” she demanded. “Because if it is, that’s not ok. You can’t just have that shit in your head, it’s not good for you. _She’s_ not good for you.”

Luke was already shaking his head. “No, no, it’s not like that. I mean, sometimes it is, but it doesn’t hurt. It just feels … quiet. Kind of peaceful.”

Theo stared at him. “That doesn’t make me feel better, Luke.”

“But not all the time,” he rushed to continue. “Nell, she – she’s all these different pieces. Happy, sad, dead, alive, everything in between. Old and young. Up and down. Sometimes she’s not there at all, and it’s just my own bullshit, rattling around in there.” He gestured at his head, self-deprecating. “But it’s fine. It’s not the House or anything. It’s just us.”

Theo blew out a breath. “I couldn’t handle any of that.”

“You handle enough,” he said quietly.

She scoffed. “Barely.”

Hesitantly, he held out his hand. “You wanna see?”

Theo almost turned around and left, leaving it up to him to follow or not. But the open trust on his face was impossible to say no to. Slowly, she took his hand.

For a second, there was nothing. Just Luke, and his faintly trembling hands, and old echoes of shame, fear and resignation rolling under his skin. But then, she felt it; just a shadow of something half forgotten. Pale skin, big blue eyes, the sound of rain falling on an old roof, love and wistfulness and _sister, my sister, my love_ …

Theo gasped and shut her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks. They felt warm.

It left as soon as it came, and it was just Luke again, one arm wrapped around her shoulders as she swayed forward, slightly dizzy.

“You okay?” he said, yet again.

She sniffed, embarrassed. “Yeah. That … yeah.” There was an echo of death underneath it all, but it didn’t seep into her like before. Maybe because Luke was here, and he was alive and (somehow) well. Maybe he balanced it out. It occurred to her that there was no running away from all of this – what they were, what they’d lost. Luke seemed to have accepted that better than any of them. Embraced it, even. She didn’t know how she felt about that.

Theo disentangled herself and took a step back, planting her hands on her hips. “I think Shirley’s little girl Ally might be like us,” she blurted out. “Or me, at least. And it fucking scares me.”

Luke blinked. “If she is, we’ll just have to help her through it.”

“Yay for us.”

He shrugged, a rueful half-smile on his face. After a moment, he said, “Shirley’s turning the porchlight on and off. I think she wants us inside.”

Theo took a deep breath. “Lets get our butts inside, then.”


	3. Imprints

Despite Luke’s reassuring words, Theo still felt wary as Ally grabbed her hand after dinner and dragged her upstairs. She was wearing some frayed costume gloves, about three sizes too big for her hands. Theo forced her worry down, smiling at the girl’s innocent enthusiasm. Ally and Jayden had always known that their aunt was ‘sensitive’. When they’d been little, they were about the only people Theo felt comfortable touching with her bare hands, and she’d always known how to calm them down when they got upset. Their emotions were so innocent and normal, tiny little bumps on the road of a good, decent childhood. Theo had never told Shirley how much she respected her for that; being a good mom when she had such a fractured template to work from.

Ally led her into the bedroom, and Theo made sure to leave the door open. She wasn’t in the habit of keeping secrets where children were concerned.

The girl pulled a large cardboard box out from underneath her bed and opened it. Inside was one of her childhood blankets, bundled tightly around an object. Theo hid a smile as she carefully unwrapped the blanket, uncovering a battered, faded Spiderman lunchbox. She picked it up with her gloved hands like it was the Holy Grail, and held it out to Theo. “Here it is,” she said. “The sad box.”

“Let’s take a look then,” Theo said. She knelt down beside her niece and picked up the box. At first, she felt nothing. It was just empty. She ran her fingers over the dents and creases while Ally watched in rapt fascination. Then, very faintly, something twinged in her lower chest. It was nostalgic, like rediscovering an old, forgotten cartoon that used to make her cry. Theo closed her eyes and found herself sitting on a swingset, all alone, gripping this empty lunchbox while the other kids laughed and played behind her. The wind was cold, and her coat was threadbare; Theo shivered.

“What is it?” Ally whispered.

Theo shook the memory off, blinking. She smiled at Ally. “You were right. There are lots of fingerprints on this box. I think it once belonged to someone who was sad and lonely.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. A little boy, about your age.” Theo realised she was picturing Luke, with his tiny hands and oversized glasses. She pushed the image away. “It’s very special that you could feel this. It means you have a lot of empathy.”

Ally took the box back, frowning. “What’s empathy?”

“It means you can tell what someone else is feeling, and be with them through that moment. Does that make sense?”

She nodded cautiously. “Can … can other people do that?”

Theo wrapped her arms around her knees. “Most people can. But you and me, and even Mommy sometimes, we can do it just a bit more than other people.”

“It’s kind of scary,” Ally confessed.

“I know. That’s why it’s so important to look after yourself. Wear the gloves if it gets too much. Or have some special alone time. But it’s not a bad thing, okay? It’s good to be so connected to other people.” _Hypocrite_ , she told herself. But what was she supposed to say? That it was a curse, a burden, something that would terrify Ally so completely that she would spend her life behind brick walls, desperate for contact but unable to stomach it? That life could be so much better, richer and colourful than other people's, but she’d have to wade through years of hate, disgust and fear before she could find it? No. Theo couldn’t let that happen.

Ally nodded slowly. “Can I tell you if I find anymore sad things?”

Theo smiled, trying not to cry. “Of course.”

There was a knock on the open bedroom door. They looked up to find Shirley standing in the doorway. “Hey, you two. Up to trouble?” Her smile dimmed slightly as she took in the sombre scene. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Theo said, ruffling Ally’s hair. But she looked at her sister, and her eyes said, _We need to talk._

_

Shirley sat in the living room, nursing her wine long after everyone else had gone to bed. She felt raw and empty. Upstairs somewhere, her little girl was fast asleep, unaware of the horrors her mother was imagining, or the helpless ache in her chest.

It wasn’t so bad, she kept trying to tell herself. Theo turned out okay … eventually. They all did. But it could all go so wrong, so very quickly. All it would take was one bad experience. A box full of dead kittens. An evil house. A mom who just wanted to hold her children close, and almost squeezed the life out of them instead.

 _Christ_. Why Ally? Why her baby?

Shirley tipped the rest of the wine down her throat. How was she supposed to explain this to Kevin? Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe it could say a secret, sit at the bottom of her stomach for years, like that man with the glass. It worked out _great_ last time.

She pulled out her phone and stared at Steve’s number for a good five minutes. She hated the sense of dread that accompanied the sight of his name. They’d been each other’s first port of call for so many years, relaying crises to each other with a clipped voice and resigned disappointment. Each one of Luke’s relapses or Nell’s emotional breakdowns became their shared problem, until they could barely stand the sound of each other’s voice. He’d broken her trust countless times, first with the book, and then by refusing to talk about what he saw in the House that last night – refuse to even fucking _acknowledge_ it – but at the end of the day, he’d always be her emergency contact.

She pressed dial, and waited until he answered. “ _Shirl_?” he grunted, his voice thick with sleep. “ _Whassamatter_?”

She glanced at her watch, and felt a twinge of guilt. “Sorry for the time. No one’s dead.”

He blew out a long breath. _“Okay, good start. What is it?”_

“Is Leigh there?”

“ _No_ ,” he admitted. “ _I fell asleep at the desk_.”

She managed a tiny smirk. For such a condescending sceptic, Steve could be a real absent-minded professor sometimes. “You said before that you were looking at family history. What did you mean by that?”

He groaned. _“Jesus, Shirl. It’s nothing you need to worry about.”_

“Oh, I think it is. You see, my …” She swallowed, her voice suddenly thick with tears. “My daughter, she’s like Theo. She senses things. And I need to know why.”

He paused. _“What do you mean?”_

“I mean, I need some goddamn answers, Steve. What is wrong with us? Our family? What do we do?”

_“I, I don’t know. I just got this email, and it’s probably nothing, but …”_

“My little girl, Steve! Maybe Jayden, too, who fucking knows, maybe it’s all of us. Except you.” She swiped at her eyes. “Look, I know you’ve never bought into any of this, and you still think that last night in the house was some kind of fucking fever dream, but _I_ can’t bury my head in the sand anymore. I don’t want Ally ending up like Nell, and _I_ can’t end up like Mom.”

_"What do you mean, end up like Mom?”_

She swallowed. “I mean, so scared for her that I end up hurting her.”

They were both silent for a moment. Shirley wiped her eyes and tried to steady herself. “There must be something, some kind of, of, history. So I know what I’m dealing with. You know?”

He was quiet for a minute, except for his quiet breaths in her ear. “ _I’ll see what I can find.”_

_

Steve told Leigh that he was going to visit his sister. He didn’t know why, exactly. He’d had every intention of telling her the truth, but his throat seized up at the last moment and a lie slipped out instead.  Maybe it was because she was so happy that they might have found a suitable donor, and he didn’t want her to worry. Or maybe he’d just told so many lies lately that the truth felt unsafe.

“Thanks for that, Dad,” he said sarcastically as he packed. “Great inheritance. Almost as good as the horror show psychosis.”

There was no answer. There never was. He left California with an overnight bag, some recording equipment, and guilt sitting heavy in his chest.

Steve’s flight took him in to Augusta just as dusk was beginning to settle in. He got a reasonably-priced motel room for the night and too a brief shower before settling down and opening up his laptop. The first thing he did was contact Miss Cynthia Drew, the ex-resident of the lake house, confirming that he was in town in time for their appointment the next day. Then, he got to work.

Steve had discovered, many years ago, that he was more of a researcher than a storyteller. He’d published his first book out of sheer desperation, knowing the sensationalism would lead to money, and finally, a proper adult life outside of his sister’s spare bedroom. He’d called it fiction. But really, it was more of a clinical examination of his childhood, uncovering the madness and illness under all that fear. It had been a revelation for him, taking each nightmare and lining it up next to symptoms of mental illness and trauma. He’d almost been honest about it, but his publisher had said the ghost stories would make more money, so that was that.

Every book since then had been pseudo-scientific in nature, combing through people’s fears to find the strands of truth. He’d set up recording equipment and looked at all the extraneous variables. He’d delved into the history of each place, weaving the past with the present. He’d teased his readers with the ambiguity, ending each story with _was it real? Guess we’ll never know._

There wasn’t a lot of information available about the Quell house, which resided in the small rural town of Durwell. It didn’t have the same infamous reputation of Hill House, that was for sure. However, some digging through census records revealed a few familiar names. _Mary Quell, b. 13.03.1933 – 05.11.1990. Born to Alan Quell and Marion Quell._ Steve’s heart jolted at the sight of his grandmother's name. As for the house itself, it was built in 1902 by an unrelated Lester Crowley, and bought by the newlyweds Marion and Alan in 1928.

Steve soon turned his sights further outward, towards the other members of the Quell family. Grandma Mary had a sister and a brother, it seemed. Steve had a very fuzzy childhood memory of Mary talking about her big sister Lilian, who’d gone to live across the sea, but she’d never mentioned her brother. It seemed that Oliver Quell didn’t go very far at all. An old newspaper report old him that he married a girl named Sarah Leland, and later records showed them living in the Quell house after his father passed away. There was no further mention of Marion, Mary, or Lilian. Steve knew what happened to his grandmother, of course, but Marion seemed to have been erased from history.  

Steve leaned back and rubbed his forehead, wincing at the sudden burst of pain. Christ, he was getting old. Staring at a computer all day was starting to give him headaches.

With some regret, he shut his laptop and grabbed some painkillers from his overnight bag.

He could sleep pretty much anywhere, after years of travelling. Shitty motels, high-class hotels, and everything in between. Now almost forty years old, it didn’t usually take more than ten minutes for him to drift off. Tonight was different. Even with the headache and the meds, he found himself tossing and turning as the hours ticked by. He kept imagining eyes in the shadows of his room, wide and white and staring at him, but they were gone as soon as he looked.

He thought about calling Leigh. Dismissed the thought almost immediately. She’d be asleep right now, she didn’t need this shit.

He drifted off at some point, and his dreams were full of abandoned houses and long, empty hallways.


	4. Omens

He woke up to a light rain falling outside. The room was cloaked in soft, muted greys. It was enough to make him want to stay in bed forever, but he knew he couldn’t. Luke had promised his sisters he’d stop lying around so much, and he was trying to keep his promises these days. Sometimes he walked the kids to school, or went for a morning run with Kevin. Other days, he just went down to the park to draw. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep them happy.

He picked up his phone and squinted at the time. 7:40 am. Early enough to justify sleeping a little longer, he thought, and rolled over.

A dark figure was standing over the bed. Luke froze, his eyes widening. For a brief, terrified second, he thought it was the Bowler Hat Man. Or, even worse, his mother. Then the figure spoke.

“Lazybones,” it whispered.

All the air rushed out of Luke’s lungs. He slung an arm over his eyes. “Jesus _Christ_ , Nell. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” she said, still unmoving.

Luke pushed himself to a sitting position. Her face was obscured by shadows, which seemed odd, because it wasn’t that dark inside. “Are you okay? What’s with the spectral abomination look?”

She tilted her head too far to the side. “You have death in your head. That’s me.”

“What are you … oh. You mean what Theo was saying?”

Nell sniffed loudly.

“She just didn’t get it,” he said. “I showed her it’s okay, though. Don’t worry about it.”

She took a step closer, and her face finally became visible. It was pale and grey, hollowed in the cheeks. In spite of himself, Luke shivered slightly. He’d seen her like this before, but not for a while. “Look, if there’s any death in my head, it’s all mine,” he told her. “’S’been there for years, you know that. And then, back in the House, I died a bit. Before you brought be back.”

This was the part he didn’t tell Theo, because he didn’t want her to worry. The thing was, he and Nell weren’t just tied together in life, but in death too. They’d sat down to have tea in the Red Room, and a part of them would always be there. Luke wondered sometimes if he’d end up back there again, one day.

“No.” Nell said firmly. Luke blinked, because suddenly she was sitting on the bed next to him, her face serious and determined. “Never again, Luke. Promise me you won’t go back there. Not the room, not the House, not Mommy. If she invites you in, you have to say no.”

“I thought you were helping her get better,” he said quietly.

She glanced away, out at something he couldn’t see. “I’m trying,” she whispered. “Sometimes it feels like there aren’t enough stars in heaven and earth to make the night brighter.”

Whenever she started sounded poetic, like something Steve might write while drunk and sleep-deprived, Luke knew she was on the verge of leaving. Hesitantly, he reached out to touch her, half expecting his hand to go right through her. But her shoulder was solid, if freezing cold. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’ll be okay.”

“No going back,” she insisted.

He forced a smile. “Got it.”

Nell squeezed his hand. “We’re not together in the Red Room, Luke. We’re together anywhere and everywhere. Life and death, then and now, two of seven stars in a big black sky.”

He grinned at her prose-riddled speech. “Sure, Nell.”

She did disappear then, but when he turned around, she was lying on the other side of the bed. She looked ten years younger, her skin warm and vibrant. She hummed to herself, an old song they used to listen to on Aunt Janet’s roof late at night, passing a stolen can of beer back and forth. He lay back down and drifted off to the sound of her off-key voice and the falling rain outside.

_

Shirley had forgotten about the St Finley’s Family Day Barbeque right up until her daughter burst into her room on Saturday morning and demanded that they start getting ready. Things descended into quite the panic after that. She unearthed the picnic blanket, Kevin somehow pulled together a pasta salad, and Ally tried on about ten different fancy-dress outfits before finally deciding on the Elsa dress she’d worn at Halloween. Jayden was refusing to dress up, but at the last minute Ally managed to wrangle a Captain America mask onto his head, and apparently he didn’t have the heart to say no to her. No earthly being had that power, as far as Shirley could tell.

With half an hour to go until they left the house, Shirley happened to glance outside and had a sudden, unpleasant jolt of realisation. She should really ask Luke to come along. He’d say no, probably, but it was worth asking. Not because she particularly wanted to spend the afternoon sitting in awkward silence with him, or enduring the other parents’ questions and gossip, but because she’d made a promise to herself to involve Luke in the family more. She’d spent enough years trying to cut him out.

She glanced at her children and had an idea. “Jayden, Ally. Why don’t you go ask Uncle Luke if he wants to come along?”

They glanced at each other, and then back to her. “Why?” Jayden asked.

“It would be nice for him to be there, don’t you think? You like hanging out with him, right?”

Jayden shrugged. “Sure, at home. But Uncle Luke doesn’t really go outside. Last week dad said he was a recluse.”

Shirley glared at Kevin. He gave her an apologetic look. “I said he was _reclusive_. Not a bad thing, just a fact.”

Shirley sighed. “Go ask him anyway. No, wait. Scratch that. _Tell_ him that he needs to come along, or else your day will be ruined and you will feel very sad.”

Kevin sighed. “Shirl …”

“Go on,” she urged her two children. They obeyed, still looking slightly bewildered. To Kevin, she said, “Don’t start. It would be a good thing, and you know it.”

He crossed his arms and leaned back against the bench. “I don’t know if using our kids to emotionally blackmail a depressed, recovering drug addict can really be classed as a good thing.”

“Oh, come on. He’ll know they’re not serious.”

“If you say so.”

She ignored him and watched the guest house. After a few minutes, Jayden and Ally ran back outside followed by a reluctant-looking Luke. She smirked. No earthly power could refuse them, indeed.

_

Luke only agreed to the barbeque because he was only given ten minutes to get ready, and didn’t have enough time to formulate a refusal. He barely had time to shower, throw on whatever clean clothes could be found at the top of his floor-drobe, and lament the fact he hadn’t shaved in a few days. It was only when he was in the back seat of Shirley’s sensible family-sized car, his legs squished uncomfortably against the seat, that he began to have regrets. Major ones.

“Um. I’m not actually feeling great. Maybe I should just get out here and walk home.”

Ally and Jayden shot him twin looks of betrayal. “Nooooooo,” Ally wailed.

“This is gonna be so lame,” Jayden said. “Only little kids go to this thing, I need someone sensible to hang out with.”

Damn it, Luke couldn’t say no to validation, even if it was coming from an eleven-year-old. _Especially_ coming from an eleven-year-old. He slumped back in his seat, avoiding Shirley’s knowing smirk in the rear-view mirror, and hoped he wouldn’t have to talk to many adults at this thing.

They got to the park, which was crowded with school children and their families. Ally took off for the playground as soon as her boots touched the grass, leaving Kevin to hurry after her, calling out, “No climbing trees, I mean it this time!”. Despite Jayden’s dramatic claim, he soon found a pack of kids to kick a ball around with. As he and Shirley unpacked the food and picnic blanket, Luke saw parents eyeing him with curiosity. He shoved his hands into his pockets and started scratching compulsively at the inner lining of the denim with his index fingernail.

“You doing okay?” Shirley asked him quietly.

“Won’t bringing your junkie brother to something like this ruin your wholesome family image?” he said testily.

To his surprise, Shirley scoffed. “Luke, I run a mortuary out of my house. I gave up on the wholesome image a long time ago.”

“Oh.” He kicked the ground with his shoe.

“I’d rather have you along than Theo, anyway. Last time she came to one of these, she seduced two different moms and I had to look them in the eye at PTA meetings for the rest of the year.”

He barked a laugh. “Yeah, you don’t have to worry about me doing that.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, leading him over to a spare patch of grass. “I wouldn’t be too torn up if you managed to get a girlfriend."

He rolled his eyes and didn’t reply.

They settled down on the grass in comfortable silence. Shirley waved to a few people and made small talk, but didn’t abandon him, which Luke was grateful for. He crossed his arms over his knees and watched Ally play with her friends, letting his mind wander. The rain had given way to a pleasant, sunny day, but the ground was still damp and soft. The kids kicked up chunks of mud as they ran around, laughing and yelling at each other.

Luke spotted a little girl in a blue dress with long brown hair running around with the other kids. She looked over and waved at him. He smiled and raised his hand back at her in greeting.

“See someone you recognise?” Shirley asked.

He shook his head. The girl had already disappeared. “Just Ally.”

She pursed her lips, clearly not believing him but not pushing it any further. Luke didn’t know how she’d react to him being honest about his visions of Nell. If she even managed to ask the question, he’d be honest about it. For all he knew, Theo had already told her. But he’d reached a point where he didn’t care if people thought he was crazy. He knew what the truth was and so did Nell. Seeing her happy, even if it was just a snapshot in time, was a relief after how she’d been the other day.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Shirley said quietly. He looked at her in surprise. “I mean, I know we’ve had our fights and I haven’t always been the most supportive …”

“You were,” he interrupted. They’d already had this conversation, in one form or another. He was so sick of apologies.

“Up to a point. Then I stopped.”

“You had good reasons.”

“Well, yeah, but I should have dealt with them better,” she insisted, frustrated.

He shrugged. “Motto of our whole family, really.”

“I suppose.” She cleared her throat. “All I’m saying is, after everything that’s happened, and now this thing with Ally … I don’t want any more secrets. Like, I am so over secrets.”

He managed a brittle smile. There were things about himself that he could never tell his sisters, or Steve. The darkest places he’d been to, and the horrible thoughts he’d had. “Me too. Wish it were that simple.”

“Well, nothing’s simple, obviously. But I just think …”

Luke glanced back over at the playground to distract himself from the conversation. Suddenly, his heart stopped. Close to the climbing equipment, there was a large tree, where some of the kids were playing. Up in the higher branches, half-hidden by the shadows and the foliage, Nell had re-appeared. Not as a little girl, not even pale and haunted like she’d been in his bedroom, but as the Bent-Neck Lady. She hung from one of the branches and stared at him from across the grass, her jaw hanging slack and her eyes dress swaying gently in the breeze.

“Luke?” Shirley asked.

He lurched to his feet, his heart pounding. Without thinking about, he started making his way forward.

“Luke! What the hell, where are you going?” Behind him, Shirley scrambled to her feet as well. A couple of people turned to stare. Luke paid them no mind, his feet breaking into a run. There was a sense of dread coiling up his spine and it propelled him forward, towards the spectre in the tree. Usually he ran away from ghosts. Right now, that wasn’t an option.

He got to the base of the trunk and looked up, panting. The Bent-Neck Lady had disappeared. But then he heard a quick scream, followed by a tiny body falling through the air. Luke caught it without thinking, the force of it knocking him to the ground.

Gasps of shock and horror rang out nearby. Luke managed to sit up, grunting in pain, as parents and children gathered around. The child in his arms looked blank with shock for a second. Then his arms welled with tears and he started to wail.

“Oh my God,” Shirley panted, finally catching up. Behind her, Kevin had picked Ally up in a tight embrace, as if scared that she’d try to fall out of a tree, too. “Oh my God, Luke, I can’t believe you caught him! How did – how did you know?”

“Uh …”

The child’s mother burst forward and immediately swept her kid away, sobbing almost as loudly as him. Luke swayed to his feet, feeling slightly dazed. All around him, parents were gathering their children close, caught up in the sudden awareness of risk. Once ascertaining that her child was still alive and had no broken bones, she turned back to Luke and gave him a brisk, tight hug. “Thank you, thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

She left then, carrying her boy all the way back to the car. He wasn’t much younger than Jayden, but at that moment he seemed quite content to wrap his arms around her neck and let her take care of him. Once she was out of earshot, one of the parents muttered, “I’m sure that was a lot of drama over nothing. It wasn’t _that_ high up.”

Something made Luke glance back at the ground. He saw a child lying there, motionless, his head cracked open from one of the lower branches. Nell stood over him, looking human again. She stared at the boy’s corpse, then back at him for a long second. A tiny, proud smile appeared on her face.

“Are you okay?” Shirley asked quietly, gripping his arm.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice cracking.

“How did you know?”

Nell and the child’s body had disappeared, leaving no trace of the horrifying might-have-been. “Just a feeling,” Luke told his big sister. “But, um. I should probably tell you a secret once we get home.”


	5. Symptoms

 

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Theo grumbled as she and Trish walked briskly down the street. “I’ve managed to stay away from any kind of mystical new-age bullshit my entire life, up to this moment.”

Trish tucked her arm into the crook of Theo’s elbow, turning them into a smaller alleyway. “Just think of it like trying out a new doctor.”

“The hell I will. _I’m_ a doctor.”

“You are also literally an empath,” Trish pointed out.

Theo rolled her shoulders back, finding the label to be ill-fitting and uncomfortable. “I don’t define myself that way,” she said shortly. “And I’m not here for me.”

“No, it’s for Ally,” Trish agreed, her voice gentle.

Theo nodded reluctantly. In truth, it wasn’t just for Ally; she felt pretty confident that her niece would be okay, so long as Theo and Shirley were there to teach her boundaries and how not to get stuck in evil houses. Luke, however, was another matter. Even though Nell’s presence was comforting rather than threatening, Theo was sure she was still a part of that House. That meant that Luke was part of it too, and it had almost killed him twice. Now, according to Shirl, Nell was appearing to him as some kind of death omen. Theo was sure Nell would never intentionally hurt her twin. But their mother had never intended to hurt them, either.

When it came to Ally, Theo knew what she was dealing with. With Luke, it was uncharted territory, the kind that couldn’t be found on any map or in any textbook. So when Trish had mentioned a psychic that she knew, Theo’s ears had pricked up. It was probably going to be bullshit. But she had to try. She wasn’t losing any more of her asshole family members. To Trish, she said, “So, who is this woman again?”

“Marie Leland. We used to room together. She’d practise her fortune telling on me while I practised tattooing on her. Used to tell me I was foretold to die alone whenever I forgot to do the dishes.”

“Cute. She better not try and read my fortune.”

“Oh, she definitely will. You’re just gonna have to put up with that, Sweetie.” Trish finally brought them to a stop outside a tiny, hole-in-the-wall shop. They went inside, where the lights were dim and incense was burning. Shelves of books lined the walls and cut through the shop in rows. Theo hated the place immediately. She clenches her hands into fists inside her coat pockets and wished she’d brought a pair of gloves.

Trish led the way further inside, towards the counter. She rang a little bell that was sitting next to the register. “Hello? I’m looking for plants, potions and pills. Can you help me?” She shot Theo a wink over her shoulder.

“In a minute, you deviant,” someone called from the background.

While waiting, Theo scanned the rows of books. There was a varied selection on witchcraft, hauntings, various types of mystical bullshit from across the world, and a shelf full of young adult paranormal romance fiction. Her eyes caught on a row of very familiar titles, starting with _The Haunting of Hill House_. Her lip curled derisively.

Marie Leland came out from behind the back and greeted Trish with a warm hug. For a second, Theo was scared she might try and give her one, too. Or worse, shake her hand. But Marie merely clasped her hands in front of her and smiled knowingly at Theo. She was an attractive, very tall woman with dark skin, swathed in colourful fabric and far too many pieces of silver jewellery. “You must be Theodora. Trish has told me a lot about you.”

Theo nodded at the row of books. “I see you already know the basics. But just so you know, these should be in the fiction section.”

Marie came to stand beside her. “Ah, but they are here for a reason.” She pulled out a book from the next shelf down. Theo was startled to see Hill House on the front of that one, too. She then realised that there were countless titles on the house, ranging from Steve’s schlocky novels to autobiographies and historical accounts. “Your brother was hardly the first person to write about the hauntings in that place. Although his account was a little more, ah, personal.”

“Yeah, he was always good at that when he could make a profit from it,” Theo said. “I’m not here to talk about him, though.”

“Why are you here, then?”

Trish glanced around, suddenly uncomfortable. She’d never spoken openly about her abilities to a stranger before. She’d barely even told Trish, instead letting her form her own conclusions and confirming them with her silence. A woman like this would probably believe anything. “Why don’t you tell me,” she challenged. “Since you’re psychic and all.”

Back at the counter, Trish sighed.

Marie raised her eyebrow, smirking. “My, you are a cagey one.”

Theo shrugged, unapologetic.

“Alright. Well, it’s a bit loud out here to have a proper conversation. All these stories of fear, they leave a bit of an echo. Why don’t we go out the back?”

Theo and Trish followed her into the room behind the counter, where a few old chairs, a small TV, and a kitchenette had been set up. They sat beside each other on the old sofa while Marie made them drinks. To her surprise, Theo found that it was quieter back here, even though the shop had been perfectly silent. Trish and Marie exchanged some gossip about each other’s lives, laughing about mutual friends and harking back to their old roommate days. Theo wondered if they’d dated at some point.

Marie gave them both a drink (black coffee for Theo, sugary tea for Trish) and sank gracefully into the other chair. “Now, then,” she asked. “Tell me about your gift.”

Theo sipped her coffee, relishing how hot and bitter it was. “I wouldn’t call it that, exactly.”

“What would you call it?”

“I don’t know. It’s just _there_. Like an extra limb. Or being good at math.”

“Did you always have it?”

“Since I was about nine. Since the House.” She frowned at her coffee. “I used to think it was the House that gave it to me. Mom told me it was a family thing, but there was one time when I was in bed and I thought my little sister got in with me. She held my hand so tight, like she was scared. But it wasn’t her. I don’t know what it was.”

Marie didn’t say anything, just kept watching her with quiet interest. Trish was watching her with wide eyes. She’d never heard this story before. Theo looked away uncomfortably. “I thought maybe that was what caused it. But now my niece is saying she feels things too. I guess Mom was right after all.”

The other woman was stirring her tea thoughtfully. “I think your mother was right, Theo. My grandmother told me the same. My gift is not as – specialised as yours, but then, I never had to live in a haunted house.” She smiled sympathetically. “Places like that will make a meal out of people like us.”

Theo was quiet for a moment. “What if it never stopped? What if it’s still … digesting us?”

Marie tilted her head. “Why would you think that?”

Theo told her about Luke and Nell, as much as she could understand. Trish was now looking downright terrified. She leaned back in the chair with her arms folded tightly across her stomach as Theo described the twins’ connection across life and death. Theo felt bad, but she couldn’t stop now. “I just feel like that fucking House is going to keep reeling us in, one by one. All I want to know is if there’s a way to be less … I don’t know, _vulnerable_ to it.”

“And for Luke to be less vulnerable to his sister?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I love Nell, but that place twisted our mom beyond recognition, and Nell’s stuck there with her. I’m … scared that she’ll want better company.”

Marie pursed her lips. “You’re a psychologist, yes?”

“Yeah,” she said warily. She wondered if she’d finally stretched the woman’s suspension of disbelief too far, and the whole thing was about to blamed on mental illness after all.

“Okay. So, you know that trauma shapes us in different ways. We feel threatened, so we draw on whatever resources we have to survive. For you, that meant heightened sensitivity. For your twin siblings, it sounds like it means a stronger connection with each other. It’s a mechanism to deal with the trauma.”

“But it’s dysfunctional,” Theo argued.

“Yes, and when a client comes to you with dysfunctional coping mechanisms, what do you do?”

Theo thought for a moment about some of her kids. The ones who lashed out and broke windows or dissociated on a daily basis. She’d seen fourteen-year-olds suck their thumbs when they were scared scared and five-year-olds who masturbated constantly because it was the only way they knew to soothe themselves. Those kinds of behaviours brought parents and carers to their wits’ end, and Theo had to tell them constantly to be patient. “You … you help them feel safe, and then teach them to replace it with something else. But slowly. Otherwise you’re just taking away the only thing that makes them feel safe, and that’s almost impossible.”

“Right. Now, you said your brother was a drug user until recently?”

“Yeah. He’s been clean for months, though.”

“So if his connection with his sister is taken away, what will he fall back on to feel safe?”

Theo felt a spike of irritation. “He’d just have to deal with his grief and addiction the normal way, like the rest of us.”

“And what will your sister fall back on?”

“I … what?”

Marie leaned forward. “You said your sister’s spirit is still tethered to the house. How will she cope with that, without her connection to Luke?”

Theo felt a sudden wave of guilt. Somehow, she’d never even considered that. She supposed it was easier to believe that Nell was dead, really dead, and the spirit left in the House was just a tiny remnant of her. A piece of confetti, just like she’d said. But if there was enough of her left to love, then there was definitely enough left to feel scared, trapped and helpless. Theo didn’t want that. She didn’t want Nell to suffer anymore than Luke, or Shirl, or Steve, or Ally. She put her head in her hands, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with it all. “What do I do?”

Marie shook her head. “I wish there was a magic cure to keep people like us safe from the evil things in this world. I could give you things that might help; crystals, herbs, incantations …”

Theo glared up at her. The woman chuckled. “No, I didn’t think so. Look, different things will work for different people. But it sounds like what your folks need more than anything is a little bit of patience and insight, and a lot of support.”

“Therapy. You’re telling me they need _therapy_. That’s just fucking awesome.”

“I could have told you that,” Trish muttered.

They left Marie’s shop soon after, loaded up with various merchandise that Theo had felt obligated to buy, even if she thought it was useless (but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try, just in case). She'd even let Marie tell her fortune, but given that an unusual amount of detail had gone into her and Trish's matching wedding gowns, Theo was pretty sure she wasn't supposed to take it seriously. They walked home in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Theo noticed the distance between her and Trish, and took a chance by reaching out to her.

“Hey,” she said, her fingers curling loosely around Trish’s elbow. “Thank you for this.”

Trish shrugged one shoulder. “All I did was hit up an old friend. Don’t know that it did much good.”

“It was worth it just to talk about it, I guess,” Theo admitted.

A frustrated scowl crossed Trish’s face. “You could have done that with me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about that stuff before. I just didn’t want to scare you off,” she said, teasing. Trish just looked at her, her lips pressed into a tight line. Theo felt her own smile fade away. “Are you scared?”

Trish glanced away. “I could never be scared of you.”

“But?”

“It’s just a lot to take in. I need some time to think about it all.”

They kept walking, and Theo’s fingers fell away. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling cold, lonely, and suddenly very jealous of Nell and Luke.


	6. Connections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for the comments guys :) I'm so pleased to hear that people are enjoying the story. I've been struggling a bit with pacing it and dividing up the different viewpoints (Steve off on his quest, the others dealing with ghost drama back home, etc), so this chapter's a fair bit longer than the last one. I'm working on that!

Steve ‘s head was still aching when he got up the next day. He took another few painkillers with his morning coffee.

Miss Cynthia Drew was set to meet him at a café at ten am. There was a light rain falling as he left his motel and made his way into town. He made his way there leisurely, taking the odd photo here and there for more research purposes. Kids swaggering down the street, old folks reading the newspaper, junkies hanging around street corners – all of it was worth something even if he hated it.

When he got to the café, he knew who Cynthia was right away, though she looked different to what he’d pictured. She was a plump women in her thirties, with thick glasses and some well-done makeup.

“Oh, thank you so much for meeting me, Mr Crain, she said, pumping his hand in nervous excitement. “Let me buy you a coffee!”

“You really don’t have to …” In the back of his head, Theo gave him a disapproving look. _If you let them buy you anything first up, you’re gonna spend the rest of the conversation feeling that you owe them something. Anyway, you’re rich, asshole._ But Cynthia was already handing over her card. She then led him to a table at the back of the store, waving to people along the way. Some of them squinted at Steve like they half-recognised him, but had no idea who he was. He was kind of used to that.

She started talking as soon as they sat down, repeating the same phenomena in her email. Steve patiently sipped his coffee and took a few notes. Some of the details were embellished, convincing him that it was probably all a crock of shit. When she finally paused for breath, he tapped the notepad with his pen. “Can you tell me more about the activity in the bedroom?” he asked. “You said there were … objects thrown about? A basket, was it?”

He expected some more exaggerations. However, Cynthia just wrapped her hands around her mug, looking thoughtful for a moment. “You know, it’s odd,” she said. “I was never too scared during those bits. The noises in the walls and the big shadow in the den – that scared me stiff. It felt very threatening. But whenever things got tossed about, it just sort of startled me. I didn’t really sense a presence there, or if I did, it was just kind of frustrated. Like a child throwing a tantrum.”

Steve blinked. “That’s an odd way to describe it.”

“Oh, you must think I’m making no sense at all,” she moaned, clapping her hands over her face.

“No, no,” he said. “In my experience, these kinds of things cause big emotions in people, but it’s not usually the kind of thing you’d expect.”

She beamed. “It’s so wonderful to finally talk to someone who understands what this is like!”

Steve had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. People always said that, and he’d known it wasn’t true. Now, even with the knowledge that his own House was genuinely haunted, he felt like he understood less than ever before.

“I’d like to get in touch with the family, visit the lake house myself,” he said, pocketing his notebook. “Do you have a number I could call, or an email address?”

Cynthia shrugged and scrolled through her phone, looking for the right number. “Sure, but I doubt you’ll get anywhere with them. They were always super unfriendly over the phone. Ignored all our complaints about the house.”

“I’ll try anyway. Thank you for your time, Cynthia.”

She looked a little disappointed that the conversation was over so soon. “Call me whenever you need more information! I’m sure you’ll need lots of detail to complete your book.”

Steve felt a stab of guilt, suddenly remembering that he had no intention of actually writing a book about her experience. But one more lie was as easy of breathing, so he assured her that he would be back in touch, and left her in the café without looking back.

_

Cynthia had been right about one thing; the Quells were not particularly communicative. After four unanswered calls and some very politely worded text messages, Steve’s patience had just about run out. He’d never had so much trouble getting people to talk about their ghost stories before.

“No, Leigh, it’s fine,” he said to his Bluetooth connection, on route to Number Twelve Sycamore Street. “I’ll be home by the weekend.”

_“Are you sure? You can take more time if you want. I don’t mind cancelling the boss’ dinner.”_

Steve wasn’t sure if he was imagining the blunt, resigned undercurrent to her voice, but he didn’t want to take any chances. “No, I said we’d be there, and we’ll be there. Shirl insists.”

_“Well, okay. Tell them all I said hi. Give them my love.”_

“Will do.” He said his goodbyes and hung up before a new wave of guilt could set in. He was doing this for his family, technically. Just because they weren’t here right this second didn’t mean they weren’t with him in spirit.

“Great, now you sound like Luke,” he grumbled to himself, pulling into yet another long, gravel driveway. “And Dad. Talking about connections and the like, and oh look, now you’re talking to yourself. Well done, Steve.”

He got lost a few times before finally finding the lake house – or Quell House, as he’d come to call it in his mind. But eventually, he pulled into a mile-long driveway and came face to face with the home of his ancestors. It was nothing like Hill House, was his first thought, which he hated himself for. It was smaller, only two storeys, with rooms added on to the back that charted its journey through time. Changing owners, new renovations, the clash between the old and the new. Eclectic, perhaps. Nell would have liked it.

The rain had stopped by the time he got out of his rental car, but the sky was still hung with dark, gloomy clouds. The driveway stopped before a rusty farm gate, which was unlocked. He pushed his way through and made his way around the house towards the front, where the small lake could finally be seen. The uncle-slash-big-brother in him (not father, a traitorous part of himself whispered) disparaged the lack of a gate between the front porch and the body of water.

Despite the house not being very photogenic at first glance, the misty lake and sense of abandonment gave the place a nice, eerie quality. An old tire hung from a tree closer to the lake. Steve took a picture of it, wondering if his great-grandmother had played on it. He waded through the damp grass, taking a couple more pictures, until finally turning towards the front door. Maybe it would be unlocked, too. It couldn’t hurt to try, right?

He took a step forward.

“Hey! Who the hell are you?”

Steve startled and spun around. An older man stood next to the porch, glaring at him. Steve realised he must have come from the old shed around the other side of the house. He was wearing brown coveralls and holding a rake – a gardener, probably.

Steve smiled and raised his arm in greeting. “Hi there. Do you work here?”

The man kept glaring. “This is private property, son.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I was just hoping to take a look around.”

“What would you wanna do that for?” he asked.

“I’m a writer. I write books about hauntings, or people who have had preternatural experiences. Steve Crain.”

The man’s face twisted disparagingly. “Never heard the name.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a bit of a niche market.” Steve could sense that he’d warn out his welcome. “I’ll come back once I’ve gotten in touch with the owners. Sorry to bother.”

He was about to walk away, when the man glanced up at the house and back to him. “You’d do better to stay away, son. This place has the devil in it.”

Steve paused. “What makes you say that?”

“’S’not for me to discuss. But do yourself a favour; leave, and don’t come back.”

Steve gave the man a tight smile and a single nod, before making his way back to the car. He had no intention of following the man’s advice, of course. If anything, his interest was finally starting to pay off. Sure, he hadn’t seen anything interesting or gotten inside, but he now had more than one person who thought there was something not right about the Quell house. That was a good start, if nothing else.

In spite of his commitment to no more ghost novels, when Steve got back to his hotel that afternoon, he found himself typing up a draft of _The Haunting of Quell House_. His trip out to the house revealed itself within the text, embellished and reframed within the context of a larger story. He didn’t intend to finish it, of course. It was just that he couldn’t help himself. In one of her more charitable moments, Theo once told him that he used fiction as a kind of narrative therapy, helping him to process reality. He’d dismissed the notion, but deep down, he knew she had a point. Even the House had known that, using that image of Leigh to throw it right in his face.

He’d just about given up on trying to contact the family, when finally, he received a phone call. Trying to supress his eagerness, Steve answered.

“Hi, this is Steve.”

There was a pause on the line. _“Steve Crain?”_

“Yeah, that’s me.”

_“My name’s Susie Quell, I hear you’ve been trying to get in touch with my husband?”_

“That’s right, Ma’am.”

_“You’re a writer, aren’t you? Because we’re not interested in contributing to some sensationalised book.”_

“I understand that, but you see, I’m not actually writing a book right now. All I want to do is track down some family history, and, well, that would mean talking to you. I believe your family and mine are related.”

_“Yes, I looked into that when I saw your name. It’s why I called.”_

“Would you be willing to meet with me?”

Another pause. He could hear her talking quietly to someone, the words muffled. To him, she said, _“No books?”_

“No books,” he assured her. “Just to talk.”

_“I suppose that would be alright. You’re already in town, I gather?”_

“I am indeed.”

_“I’ll text you the address. Come by tomorrow afternoon if that suits you.”_

“That would be great. Thank you so much, I’ll see you soon.”

She hung up without further discussion. The Quells weren’t any more friendly to family members than their tenants, it seemed. That didn’t matter, though. Steve had finally made some headway, which meant he might be a little bit closer to getting some answers.

_

Durwell was like most small towns in America – its largest features were the church, the school, and the local bar. There was a small strip of mall running through the centre, where some disaffected teenagers hung around. They stared at him as he passed through in his rental car, perhaps sensing that he was an outsider in their midst. The town was bracketed by farmland and misty woods, which looked rather pretty but also somewhat foreboding in the late afternoon light as he made his way towards the Quells’ home.

Steve was used to talking to all kinds of people. Young, old, rich, poor, the slightly odd and the flat out insane. Everybody had their ghost stories to tell, and he had a knack for listening to the weirdest shit with sincerity and interest. (His siblings would disagree, of course). He had his script and his objective, and could prepare himself for pretty much anything.

Tonight was different because he didn’t know what to say, and he was trying not to let that little fact get to him. He didn't even know where to begin.  _Hey. I’m your long-lost cousin. Do you happen to have a genetic history of mood disorders or psychic powers?_   Yeah, that would go over great.

He arrived sooner than he was prepared for. It was a nice, modern-looking house in a middle-class suburban neighbourhood. No tall gates or overgrown weeds to be seen. He took a deep, fortifying breath and got out of the car, making his way up to the front door. The porchlight flicked on as he approached, coating him in welcoming yellow.

A man opened the door. He was around Steve’s age with a little extra weight around the middle and more grey than brown in his hair. His face broadened into a friendly smile. “Steve Crain?” he asked.

“That’s me.” He shook the hand that was offered to him.

“I’m John. Good to meet you, come on in.”

Steve followed the man inside, down a short hallway and into a warm, open-plan kitchen area. It smelled of cooked pasta and some kind of floral scent diffuser. He noted a simple, black crucifix on the wall. It was all so normal and suburban, the opposite of what Steve had been expecting, given how elusive and difficult they'd been to get a hold of. There was a woman behind the kitchen counter, short and blonde. She was clutching a cup of tea, and smiled tightly when John introduced her as his wife Susie. Steve took a step forward and offered his hand to her as well. “We spoke over the phone. Thank you for setting this up.”

She gave him a brief smile. “John was very excited to hear from you.” To her husband, she said, “Emma’s not home.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s barely dusk, Suze. Give the girl a break.”

Susie pursed her lips and looked away. “I’ll put the kettle on. Tea or coffee?” she asked Steve.

He was tempted to ask for coffee, but didn’t want them to see his fingers shaking from caffeine overload. “Tea, please.”

While Susie made the drinks, John led Steve over to the plush leather sofa. “I gotta say, this is pretty exciting for me,” he confessed. “Suze’s got twenty-eight billion cousins – her family's Irish, you know – but I was an only child and my mom was the same. Never thought of looking back further than that. You got any siblings?”

“Yeah, four,” Steve said. _Three, now_ , his traitorous subconscious whispered. He ignored it. “Three sisters, one brother.”

John laughed at that. “I can’t even imagine.”

“Yeah, they’re a handful. But it’s good to have them there, I guess.”

Suzie brought out their drinks, then made herself scarce, muttering something about giving Emma a call. John shook his head as she left. “She’s protective. Em’s a little terror, you know? But she’s a good girl, she’ll be okay.”

“How old is she?” Steve asked, making small talk. He sipped his coffee. It was a bit lukewarm for his taste.

“Fourteen. Tough age. Her big brother’s off to college now, so she’s acting up a little.” Jonathan smiled proudly. “I broke the family record, having two kids. Mom near fainted when Emma was born.”

Steve could see the question coming a mile away. _How old are yours?_ He hurriedly deflected. “I remember my sister being a horror when she was fourteen. She still is, actually.”

They chatted about Steve’s siblings for a bit, which then turned into a discussion about work (“A mortician? Hell, that’s different! And here I thought being a regional manager brought out the worst in people.”), and then became a discussion of their parents. John had nothing but normal, mundane things to say about his childhood, with the odd embarrassing story thrown in here and there. The most dangerous thing that happened was their church nearly burned down because John and his friends were smoking out the back when he was twelve. Tea and coffee transitioned into beer without fanfare, and Steve felt himself relaxing. He and John had almost nothing in common, but it was easy to talk to him. It was like having family without all the baggage.

After another church-related anecdote, John glanced at the crucifix on the wall, then back to Steve. “You a religious man?” he asked, with what seemed like open curiosity rather than judgement.

Steve shook his head. “Never grew up with it. Mom used to teach us – well, me – all about different faiths and philosophies, but never tried to tell me one was the absolute truth.” Steve had a memory in the back of his head, of sitting on his mother’s lap and paging through old books. She read to him while he leaned against her, and let him ask questions about the secrets of the universe. He didn’t like to unpack that memory too often; it felt too light and delicate, and he was scared that he might break or tarnish it. Right now, after two beers and in a not-quite-stranger’s living room, it felt almost safe enough to hold the image in his hands. “She was always wanting me to find my own path,” he said.

“So what did you end up settling on?” John asked.

Steve inclined his head self-deprecatingly. “Nothing, really. I guess that’s another part of growing up I just missed out on.”

“You don’t believe in anything? ‘Cause, ah, I had a look at those books of yours. There’s some pretty interesting stuff in there.” He looked at Steve, still open and interested, but there was something cautious behind his eyes.

This was the moment Steve had been waiting for. There was no better opportunity to bring up the real reason for his visit, even if it might ruin the easy conversation. Steve took another sip of beer, trying to force the questions out of his throat. _Do it for Shirl_ , he told himself. _And Ally._ “Look, I don’t know if you believe in ghosts or anything. I certainly didn’t, even when I was writing about them. But, um. Recently, I’ve been thinking about everything that’s happened to us – my family, I mean – and it seems that there’s just something not quite normal about …”

The front door slammed open, startling Steve so badly that beer slopped down his fingers. He hurriedly set the glass down on a coaster. John just rolled his eyes. “I know who that’ll be.”

A girl stomped into the room. “I’m home! Do you see that? I’m home and alive and as you can see my arm is needle-free, so you can go to bed happy, okay?!”

Susie yelled something back at her from across the house. The girl made a sound of frustration.

“Em, Sweetheart,” John said patiently. “We have a guest.”

Emma turned towards them and paused at the sight of Steve. He stared right back, suddenly at a loss for words again. She looked like a typical teenager in many ways – too much makeup, layered clothing, and a sullen expression on her face. But the genes in his mom’s family had always run strong with girls, and it seemed even three generations of genetic divergence couldn’t keep those traits out. With her dark hair, pale blue eyes and strong jawline, she could have been another one of his sisters.

John was introducing him as a second cousin or something, but Steve was barely paying attention. From the moment Emma locked eyes on him, his headache (having been numbed to an ignorable ache through the use of painkillers) had started to build again. The longer they stared, the more painful it became, until it was so sharp that he had to look away, wincing.

“Steve and I were just talking about … hey, are you okay?”

“Fine. Sorry, I just …” Black spots were starting to appear at the edge of his vision. It felt like everything was tilting slowly to the right. “I need to sit down for a second.”

“You _are_ sitting down,” Emma pointed out.

Steve pressed his fingers over his eyes and tried to get a grip. They were talking over him, and every word felt like a pickaxe digging into the front of his cranium. His own voice was just as painful, but he had to say something. “I’m sorry, I’ve just had this headache for a few days and its finally gotten on top of me. I should go.”

“You want me to give you a lift back into town? Or I could call a cab?” John put a hand on his shoulder, and Steve had to bite down on a shout of pain. Somehow, that simple touch felt like a knife slicing at his skin. He lurched to his feet, trying to remain steady.

“I’ll be fine. I’m sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“If you’re sure…”

With a few feet of distance and the door in sight, Steve’s vision cleared minutely. He forced a smile. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Anytime.” He smiled gently. “We are family, after all.”

Emma didn’t say anything, but gave Steve a wide berth as he made his way out the door. As he let himself out into the cool night air, he heard her say, “What a fucking weirdo. Are you sure we’re related?”

Steve didn’t take offence. He was too busy being a fucking weirdo, staggering back to the car and taking deep, measured breaths. Being out in the dark and the cold night air made things a little easier. As soon as he got himself into the driver’s seat, he fumbled in the glove box for more painkillers and swallowed them. He then lay his head against the wheel and waited for the worst of it to subside.

After a good ten minutes, he still felt like shit but felt like his chances of driving back to the hotel were as good as they were going to get. This was getting beyond something he could ignore. As soon as he got back home, he’d have to suck it up and go to the doctor.

As he slowly turned the car on (wincing at the sound of the engine), Steve glanced back up at the house. Susie Quell’s silhouette watched him from one of the upstairs windows. She stayed there, unmoving, as he drove away.


	7. Fractures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for this chapter: references to self-harm.

Steve spent that night and most of the following day holed up in his hotel room with the lights off and the curtains drawn. His head throbbed and his exhaustion ran bone deep, but he could barely get past the most shallow level of sleep. It seemed like every time he closed his eyes, he was staring down a long, empty hallway, but this time, there was a red door at the end. It opened up on his mother, staring at him with sharp focus over his dad’s shoulder. Steve tried to yell and get his dad’s attention, but his voice was hoarse. His dad never turned around.

One time, the door opened and it wasn’t his mother, but Emma Quell, with the same frosty stare. She held a black crucifix in her hand and tapped it slowly against her leg. His dad lay on the ground behind her, unmoving.

He left the bed twice that day, purely to stagger to the bathroom and throw up.

At around six o’clock in the evenig, when Steve felt like he could get up without fainting, vomiting or crying, he took a scalding shower. He wondered if he should just go straight home. He knew, without a doubt, that Leigh would insist if she knew about the migraine. But he’d come here with a purpose, and he felt obligated to see it through. It wasn’t that bad. The worst was over now, and he only needed one more visit with the Quells. After that, he could go home.

He should really stop by Shirl’s place on the way back to LA, talk to her about this whole thing in person. He could spend some time with Luke, maybe even Theo. He didn’t see enough of them.

Of course, there was a reason for that. Every conversation he’d had with then since their dad’s death had been weighed down by everything he couldn’t say. He could always feel their resentment and disappointment. It wasn’t unfamiliar, after all these years, but he couldn’t pretend it was unjustified anymore. He’d been wrong. Dad had been right. It was all so blatantly obvious, now. And yet, from their perspective, he was just carrying on in denial like always. Jesus, Steve _wished_ he still had the luxury of denial.

The room felt too small and quiet, all of a sudden. He needed to get out. Besides, he hadn’t eaten since the day before, and food probably wouldn’t hurt.

Steve drove back through the tiny centre of town. There weren’t many people about; places shut early in small towns like this. A group of teenagers were around, though, laughing and jeering at each other outside a small pizza place. Steve quickly decided against getting pizza. As he drove, a figure on the sidewalk caught his eye. She was walking by herself and had her head bowed against the wind, but there was no mistaking that face, so similar to his mother and his sisters. One glimpse of her eyes told him she’d been crying. Almost without thinking about it, Steve pulled up beside her. She quickened her pace, understandably wary of cars slowing down right next to her. He hurriedly rolled the window down and leaned over.

“Hey, it’s just me. We met at your parents’ place last night.”

Emma glanced at him and slowed down, but remained sceptical. “Yeah, what do you want?”

“Nothing, was just looking for a supermarket. Do you need a lift home? It’s getting late.”

She scoffed. “No thanks. I know we’re supposedly related and all, but I don’t just go around hopping into strange dudes’ cars.”

“Well, fair enough.” He didn’t feel comfortable leaving her alone, though. “Can I call your parents at least?”

“No,” she said shortly.

“Are you sure? It’s just, I can tell you’re upset and all your friends are back that way, so …”

“They’re not my friends. I don’t have any friends.”

He sighed. “Please let me call your mom?”

Emma growled in frustration and stomped around to his door. Surprised, he watched her wrench the door open and get inside. “Don’t get any ideas, I’m just doing this to shut you up,” she warned him. “If you drive me anywhere except home I’ll punch you in the face.”

“That would be a really bad idea if I’m driving,” he said, pulling back onto the street. “But noted.”

They drove in silence for a while. Emma scrolled through her phone and frowned a lot, but he caught her looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Eventually, she said, “So, what, you write about haunted houses and stuff?”

“Well, hauntings in general. Yeah.”

“But you don’t believe in ghosts? Dad told me you said that. Isn’t that kind of _disingenuous_?” she asked him, slightly sarcastic.

Fantastic. He’d flown all the way across the country to be judged by another girl who looked like his sisters. “I guess you could say that. I see my work as being able to shine a spotlight on people’s voices that might not be heard very often. And you know, ghosts can be a lot of things – a piece of history, a memory, a feeling. All of those things are stories worth telling.”

She sank down into her seat. “Whatever.”

It occurred to Steve that he might have an opportunity here. Putting aside his pre-prepared speeches, he said. “Of course, I have become more … open-minded about this sort of thing. Not everything can be explained away, and I wonder if sometimes, a ghost is really just a ghost.”

She didn’t say anything, so he continued. “I know I’ve seen some weird things lately. And my mom, she used to say that our family was kind of sensitive to that sort of thing.”

Emma started scratching at her arm, her fingers digging underneath the sleeve of her hoodie and exposing some of her pale skin. In his peripheral, Steve caught a glimpse of thin red-and-white lines along her wrist. There were some tiny pinpricks, too. Needle-marks. _Witness marks_. He’d know them anywhere. He swallowed. “I know I’ve always felt different from other people because of that. And you know, I was the “normal” one in my family. My sisters and my brother, they had it worse. They saw a lot more than I did, and it scared them. Sometimes it scared them so much they did bad things to try and feel better.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Emma said suddenly, her voice pitched low. “Anyone who thinks otherwise is just fucking crazy.”

Steve reeled back, slightly stung. That wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. “If you say so. All I meant was, people experience the world very differently, and I’ve learned you can’t judge other people by your own experiences.”

She didn’t answer. He suspected she’d gone back to ignoring him.

About one block away from the Quell house, Emma asked him to stop the car. He frowned. “I can take you closer.”

She shook her head. “I can’t be fucked dealing with the questions.”

It was close enough for him to make sure she actually got to her front porch, so he reluctantly pulled over. She immediately got out of the car. “Look,” she said. “Maybe you shouldn’t come around again. Leave town, go back to your fancy California writer’s life. Okay? You won’t find what you’re looking for here.”

She slammed the door shut before he had a chance to answer.

_

Shirley wasn’t expecting any company after eight in the evening, so it was a surprise to her when Theo turned up and let herself into the house without preamble. She had a bottle of scotch in her hand and a particularly stubborn look on her face. Shirley and Kevin exchanged a glance.

“I’ll set up the guest room,” he said.

“Don’t bother,” Theo said, flopping down beside Shirley on the couch. “I won’t be staying.”

“I think you will be,” Shirley said, eyeing the scotch. “Theo, was that bottle full when you left home?”

She took a swig. “No.”

“Bullshit. Are you trying to get arrested? Or killed?”

Kevin sighed. “I’ll find some aspirin to put in the guest room.”

Theo watched him leave the room mulishly. “Where did you find him, again? The Saints Factory?”

“So, this is about Trish,” Shirley surmised, going into the kitchen to grab a glass of wine for herself. It wouldn’t be fair, otherwise.

“What the fuck? Why would you think that? Christ, you don’t know everything.” Theo sulked while Shirley got her wine and a raspberry-apple juice for her sister. Theo always used to sneak the kids’ juice boxes after coming home from the club in the middle of the night. When she got back, Theo said, “I think she’s gonna break up with me.”

Shirley made a face. “What makes you say that?”

“We went to see one of her friends. A psychic, or a medium, I don’t know what the fuck she was. Don’t give me that look; I just wanted to cover all the bases. For Ally and. You know. Him.” She flung her hand in the rough direction of Shirley’s guest house. “Anyways so I was telling this lady all this stuff about me and us, the whole sordid story. And Trish is just looking at me like I’m the Creature from the Black Lagoon. And I’ve been getting the cold shoulder all day.” She took another mouthful of scotch. “Look, it was always going to happen. Surprised it didn’t happen sooner, actually.”

Shirley put a hand on her arm. Theo was either too drunk or too depressed to shake her off, so she gave her a comforting squeeze. “Theo. One afternoon of silent treatment doesn’t equal the end of a relationship. I should know, okay?”

“Yeah but you and Kevin have kids. Like, a reason to stick it out. Why would Trish stick around?”

“Because she loves you?” Shirley suggested patiently. Theo’s face twisted. “And you love her. No, don’t roll your eyes. I know these things, okay?”

“Don’t know everything,” Theo muttered again. “Bet it all looks rosy up there on your high horse.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re impossible.”

Keven came back down and told them he was going to bed. Shirley let him know she’d be up a little longer. He kissed her goodnight and gave Theo a comforting pat on the shoulder. Shirley smiled as he left, filled with sudden gratitude. It could have all gone so badly, but somehow, she still had this. Him, her kids, her business, her life. She even had her siblings, even if there were total pricks sometimes.

The front door opened yet again, but it was just Luke this time. Shirley raised her eyebrows as he shuffled inside, surprised to see him after dark. Theo raised her bottle at him.

“Hey look, it’s the hero of the hour,” she crowed.

“Hey, Theo,” he said quietly.

“You want some?”

“I’m good.” He sat on the floor in front of them, his arms locked loosely around his knees. “You okay?”

“Peachy.”

Shirley sighed. “You want a juice box, Luke?”

“Sure. Orange, please.”

While Shirley fetched his juice (and the bottle of wine, because hey, it would save her a trip later), Theo and Luke sat in quiet contemplation of each other. Eventually, Theo leaned back and crossed her arms. “Did Nell tell you to come in?”

“No,” he replied

“Is she here now?”

“Not really.”

She took another swig of scotch. “You know, I went to a psychic today. Me, a psychic. You know why?”

He didn’t answer, just watched her.

“It’s ‘cause I was worried about you. You told me not to be, I get it. I know Nell’s like this nice presence and all. But. I was worried anyway. So I went. All it did was make me worried about both of you.”

Luke shrugged, self-conscious. “There's nothing to worry about. But I get it. You’ve always been protective of us.”

“No. No, no-no. I was bad to you. A bad big sister. You and I didn’t talk for, like, two years.”

He shrugged again. “It’s not your fault I was drug-fucked. Not your fault Nell was depressed, either. You were always trying to help, but when we were a lost cause, you helped other people. Other kids. You’re a good person, Theo.”

Theo made a face like she was deeply offended, but it only lasted a second before she crumpled and put her head in her hands. He awkwardly shuffled forward and patted her knee. Shirley stayed silent, not wanting to ruin things. After a minute, Theo inhaled sharply and straightened up. “Did Nell tell you to say that? It sounds like her.”

He half-grinned. “No, but she gave me some pointers.”

_

Steve eventually found his supermarket, and conveniently there was a liquor store right next to it. Against his better judgement, he soon found himself back at the hotel room with a microwave meal and some whiskey on the side. The conversation with Emma in the car had left him feeling flat and oddly guilty. Who was he to expect something better from a fourteen-year-old? It hadn’t been fair for him to ask her about the ghost stuff, especially not after he’d seen her scars. He knew what it was like to be her, at least a little bit. He’d bashed his own head against a wall enough times before discovering that writing was a better outlet. As for the apparent needle-marks, well, maybe he was a little hypervigilant about that kind of thing. He’d have to have a word to her parents. Just in case.

He opened up his laptop and started typing away at the novel-that-would-never-be. He described the Quells and their home, paying specific detail to their pasta-and-diffuser smell and the crucifix on the wall, John's easy manner and Emma’s fierce blue eyes.

Steve’s phone rang. The caller ID said _Shirl_. He took a second to steady his fingers before pressing the green button. “Hello?”

_“Steeeeeve,”_ Theo’s voice drawled.

He sighed. “Theo. You at Shirl’s place?”

“ _Man, you sound super drunk right now,”_ she said, which was probably the most hypocritical thing she’d said to him in a decade. There was a static-y rush of air as the phone changed hands.

_“Hi, Steve,”_ Luke said, surprising him. “ _It’s Luke.”_

“Yeah, I can tell. You guys partying hard or something?” Privately, Steve had always been slightly relieved that Luke and Theo never really hung out as adults, because it meant he never had to deal with their addictions overlapping.

There was a long pause. _“I’m not fucking high, Steve.”_

Steve winced and rubbed his eyes. Two minutes on the phone to his brother and he’d already managed to say the wrong thing. “I know, I wasn’t implying that. You know how proud I am that you’re been clean for almost a year, right?”

_“Year and two months_.”

Goddamn it, where had the time gone? Had it really been that long since they'd spoken? “Right, right. Sorry.”

Luke paused again, and Steve was worried he might hang up. But then he cleared his throat and said, _“Theo’s upset because she had a fight with Trish, so she came over. How are you?”_

Letting out a slow breath, Steve said, “I’m fine. You?”

“ _Yeah, good_.” There was a pause. “ _Nell says hi.”_

Steve sat up suddenly, his head spinning. He felt like he’d just been stabbed. “What?”

The phone changed hands again. To his relief, Shirley’s voice was the next he heard. She sounded a little drunk as well, but at least he was well past the point of offending her to the point where she’d refuse to talk to him. _“Sorry, I was just upstairs checking on the kids. Theo stole my phone”_

“Are she and Trish okay?”

_“Oh, they’ll be fine. Theo’s just being melodramatic._ ” There was a muffled noise of indignation in the background. _“Anyway, how are you?”_

“Fine. I met the Quells last night.”

_“What was that like?”_

“It was okay. They’re pretty normal people, as far as I can tell.”

He heard her sigh. “ _Great, so we’re just the weirdos then.”_

“No, well. I’m still investigating,” he stuttered. He didn’t want to disappoint her. “Hey, what the hell did Luke mean, before? About Nell?”

She was quiet for a moment. “ _He’s, uh, been having visions of her. A lot of them.”_

Steve’s heart began to hammer in his chest. “Bad ones?”

_“He says no. Well, he says it varies, but it’s not dangerous.”_ He heard her walk away from the background noise, probably out towards the porch. _“If there are any dead twins over on the other side of the family tree, I’d love to know about it.”_

The Quells were all only children, up until Emma and her older brother. Steve felt his throat close up again. “I’ll ask.”

_“Theo’s worried, but I’m not so sure. He basically saved this kid’s life the other day, and said it was because of Nell. What do you think?”_

Steve couldn’t answer, because his first thought wasn’t worry or concern, but childish jealousy. He and Nell hadn’t been twins, and he hadn’t always treated her right, especially towards the end. Still, he was certain the good times outweighed the bad, and he couldn't say that about his other siblings. All those years Luke had been drifting between the streets and the rehab centres, Nell had turned to him. He’d been her brother, her dad when she needed one, and her friend. When he’d seen her body at Shirl’s funeral home, the grief and guilt had hit him so savagely it surprised him.  He’d had his chance to apologise to her back at Hill House, and that should have been enough. But it wasn’t. It would never be enough. He just fucking missed her.

_I’m the “normal” one in my family._

_“Steve?”_ Shirley said. In the background, he heard Theo’s laughter and Luke’s quiet voice.

“It’s been a long day, Shirl. Can I talk to you tomorrow?”

There was a brief silence. He could hear her biting her tongue, stopping herself from pushing it. _“Okay. Sleep well_.”

“Night.” He hung up the phone and continued drinking until he passed out.

_

Theo made her way home early the next day, before Ally and Jayden could see her in all her morning disgrace. It had been a long time since she’d had a hangover like this. She was losing her touch. How embarrassing.

In the harsh light of day, Theo could admit that she’d overreacted a little. Trish was still taking everything in, like she’d said. It wasn’t fair to assume the worst of her. Still, Theo couldn’t help the anxiety that had taken root in her stomach, nor stop it from rising up in her throat as she parked the car. She felt like throwing up. Although, that may have also been the hangover.

She let herself into their little apartment as quietly as possible. Immediately, she found Trish curled up on the sofa, snoring slightly. Theo managed a smile, and crept over to run her thumb gently over her forehead. Scraps of unsettled dreams drifted briefly across her skin. Trish had slept poorly, it seemed; her head was full of dark shadows and lost children. Theo then noticed that the coffee table was covered in books from Marie Leland’s shop – _Hauntings of the 20 th Century. A Comprehensive Study of Ghosts, Spirits and Poltergeists. Crossing the Veil. The Science of Empathy._ And then, of course, _The Haunting of Hill House._ She’d also left her laptop open. When Theo logged in, she found dozens of tabs open with more of the same subject matter; message boards, Reddit threads, faux-scientific articles, and historic accounts.

Trish stirred and opened her eyes. Her first reaction at seeing Theo was to smile sleepily. “You’re back.”

“Yeah. Sorry I left.”

“It’s okay.” Suddenly, Trish realised that she’d woken up at the scene of a crime. Her eyes went wide and cautious. “This isn’t. I mean. I was just doing some research.”

“Research,” Theo repeated flatly.

“Please don’t be mad,” she said. “I don’t know if this stuff is all totally true, but I just wanted to see if there’s a way I can understand better. So I can help you.”

Theo shook her head sharply. “I don’t need any help.”

“I – you’re right, help’s the wrong word,” she agreed, sitting up and linking her hands together. Even though Trish came across as shy and uncertain sometimes, her hands were always sure and steady. Theo loved that about her, normally. “Look, I’ve always believed in some strange things. Living with Marie, I kind of _had_ to. But I never really thought about it that much, and now I’m realising there’s this whole other side to the world and it scares me, Theo. So much. I don’t know what it all means.”

Theo's fists clenched. “Well I hate to break it to you, but my life isn't some research project," she snapped. "You can't just read a bunch of fiction novels and conspiracy theories and suddenly  _know_ me."

"If you just talked to me, then I wouldn't have to!"

Theo was too hungover to deal with this. Her anger drained away, and all she felt was hollow. "Look. If you're scared, I get that. But none of this is going to go away. So if you can't deal, then I understand." She tried to stand up.

“No, no, you don’t.” Trish reached out and took Theo’s hand in both of hers, holding her steady. “What I’m saying is that I want to find out. It’s scary, but it’s all a part of you, and it helped make you the kind of strong, amazing person you are today. So I’m not afraid, okay? Not by your side, and never of you.”

Theo swallowed and looked away, but her hand remained tethered to Trish. “I’m afraid,” she confessed.

“That’s okay. We’ll work it out. But you need to trust me. Please, please trust, me, okay?”

She closed her eyes and exhaled, feeling emotions of love, worry, frustration and determination flow through their shared touch. At this point, she couldn’t tell where her own feelings stopped and Trish’s began. Maybe that was how it should be – the kind of connection to another human being that she thought she’d never have. Theo had always wondered how she and her siblings had conned their way into such good, loving relationships when they were so fundamentally broken. Leigh, Kevin, Arthur, and now Trish, each of them were more than any Crain deserved.

Trish was still waiting for an answer, but there was no way for Theo to express herself with words. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed Trish, wishing for once that her gift went both ways so her fiancée could understand how fiercely Theo loved her.


	8. Tremors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some more specific descriptions of self-harm in this chapter. And maybe one little Bojack Horseman reference.

Steve woke up very late the next afternoon with a vicious hangover. It really didn’t feel any different to the constant headaches, just slightly more disgusting. None of that mattered, though, because he had a plan. He would see the Quells again. He would have a clear, concise and very reasonable conversation about preternatural phenomena; if they thought he was insane, so be it. And then he would leave. In just five hours, he would be on a plane back to California. He just had to keep his shit together until then.

Steve used the last of his painkillers with a cup of coffee, and sent a quick message to John, asking if he could come around one last time. He got an affirmation not two minutes later.

The air was heavy with rain once again as he drove through Durwell, but it didn’t start until he was almost at the Quells’ house. As he pulled up, fat drops of water were falling against his front windscreen. He took a moment just to sit and listen. He missed the rain, back in California. It was about the only thing he _did_ miss about the East Coast, except maybe his siblings when he was in a nostalgic mood (which seemed to be very often these days).

The rain fell heavier as he made his way to the front door. He shook the moisture out of his hair and knocked.

It took longer than he would have expected before someone answered the door. Steve experienced a sudden rush of anxiety, thinking it might be Emma in all her disdainful teenage angst. But no, it was just John, welcoming him back inside with his usual friendly smile. Steve followed him back through the entrance hall, suddenly aware of how inhuman he felt. He was sore, tired, dizzy, and hanging onto his composure by a shoestring. The floral scent diffuser was obnoxiously overpowering.

“You’ll have to excuse the mess,” John said, gesturing to one of the rooms off the main hallway. Steve realised it was the laundry, and there was broken glass all over the tiles. Wind gusted through the small window, now just a gaping, jagged hole. There was a broom and dustpan set aside, the remnants of a half-done clean up. “We had a bit of an accident here, this morning.”

Steve wondered if this was Emma’s doing. “If it’s a bad time, I can ...” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

“Nah, it’s fine.”

Something about his nonchalant attitude made Steve feel irritated, even a little anxious. He had a strong urge to get down on his knees and start gathering splinters of glass up himself.

 _It’s his home, idiot,_ he scolded himself. _You don’t go having panic attacks about other people’s broken windows._

Outside, the rain fell harder. In desperation, Steve thought of Nell, and her last words to them. _The rest is confetti_. Maybe she wouldn’t appear to him like she did to Luke, but at least she’d given him that. It steadied him a little, enough to accept a cup of tea and sink into one of their plush armchairs, a polite smile on his face.

“I’m glad you came by today, Steve,” John was saying. He sat down on the sofa. “My mom came to visit earlier today, and he has just been dying to meet you.”

Steve realised this must be Oliver Quell’s daughter. “Sounds great.”

“Let me go grab her.”

Steve was left alone for a minute. He rifled through his memory, thinking back to the research he’d done on the Quell family. Alanna Quell was Oliver’s daughter. She hadn’t married John’s father, which had been a bit of a scandal back in the seventies. Thus, she and John both carried the Quell name. He wondered if she had any stories of her grandparents to tell.

The clock in the kitchen ticked conspicuously, echoing through the house. He hadn’t seen Susie or Emma. Maybe the girl was out again, or grounded because of the window incident. Her mom was probably avoiding Steve; he didn’t have to be a genius to realise she didn’t much like him.

He took a sip of his tea while he was waiting. It was cold. He frowned at it, wondering how long he’d been sitting there. Maybe John had forgotten to boil the water. It looked a lot darker outside, but then, the sun set quickly this time of year.

Restlessness forced Steve back to his feet. The house seemed so oddly quiet. He found himself wandering out of the lounge area and down the hall. The walls were pale cream and covered in framed photos of the family – John, Susie, Emma, and her older brother. Steve paused at a photo of the boy at his high school graduation. It was possible that he looked a little bit like Luke, but he might be imagining that. Further along, he found the words _Live, Laugh, Love_ stuck to the wall in black cursive.

The laundry floor was still littered with glass. He moved on quickly.

He came to a flight of stairs, which went up to the second floor. Even in his state, he knew it would be rude to go up there. But all the same, he was beginning to worry. “Hello?” he called out. There was no answer, but he heard some floorboards creak.

After a moment’s hesitation, he began to climb.

The landing narrowed into another short hallway, with bedrooms branching off to either side. Still there was no one in sight. Annoyance was starting to outweigh his hesitation. Sure, they’d had a rough morning, but leaving someone in the lounge and then ignoring them was just plain rude. Maybe Susie was trying to convince John to make him leave. The thought annoyed him even more; all he needed was a few answers. After that, he’d never have to see them again.

Making his way across the second floor, he glanced briefly into the rooms. They were all very clean and well-decorated. Every door was open, swaying slightly in the draft that blew through the house. Finally, he came to the last door at the end of the hall, which was shut. It had to be Emma’s room. For one thing, all the other rooms were too neat and adult-like for a teenager, so a process of elimination could be applied. For another, there was a small blackboard hanging off the doorknob, with the message, _Suck a dick, Dumb Shits!_ inscribed upon it in pink chalk.

Steve was about to turn around and head back downstairs, when he heard a faint sound from behind the closed door. It might have been a whimper.

His mind flashed back to last night in the car, with Emma’s teary eyes glaring out the window, and the brief glimpse of cut marks and track marks on her arm. His heartrate kicked into overdrive. Maybe it was nothing, but she was a teenager with some very bad coping mechanisms, and she’d just broken a window. Steve had spent enough nights locked outside Luke’s door, wondering if he was still alive on the other side, to know a cry for help when he saw one.

The thought propelled him to knock on the door. First hesitant, then quite insistent. “Hey, are you okay in there?”

The whimpering stopped. He knocked again.

“Emma?”

“Go _away!”_ he heard her say.

Her voice was so brittle. Steve couldn’t stop seeing Luke lying on the ground, his hands held out stiffly as poison ran though his veins. “I need to know you’re okay. Just show me you’re okay and I’ll leave.”

“GO AWAY!” she shrieked tearfully. Outside, the wind howled harder.

Steve was going to regret this, he knew it. But he couldn’t just leave it. Even if the family never spoke to him again, even if they called the police, he just had to know for certain. “Emma, I’m worried about you, and I’m coming in.”

She went dead silent, which only increased his anxiety. There was a small lock on the door, but he could tell it had been broken before – the deep ridges in the doorframe proved it. When he twisted the knob, it resisted slightly, but didn’t cease his entry. Steeling himself, Steve again told her, “I’m coming in.” Then, he pushed the door open.

The lights were off in Emma’s room. The light from the hallway slowly streamed in, allowing him to see that her floor was strewn with clothes, and her bedding was rumpled. It took him a moment to locate Emma herself. Then he caught sight of the thin, quivering figure standing in the far corner of the room. The first thing he noticed was that she had her shirt off. Dread fell heavy in his stomach – _I have made a big fucking mistake_ – but then his eyes adjusted to the poor light, and he saw that she was holding a pair of scissors her hand. All over her skin, there were dozens of thin lines – some were quite large, others were as small as her fingernail. After a brief, horrifying second, he realised they were crosses. Crucifixes etched into her pale skin, over and over again. There was a fresh one on her lower abdomen, still bleeding.

Speechless, Steve could only watch as Emma raised her head to stare at him, her eyes full of shame, anger and sorrow behind a dark curtain of hair. “I told you to go away,” she hissed.

“I – I’m sorry, I …”

“It’s okay, Honey.”

Steve spun around, and found himself facing John. He had no idea where he’d come from. The man had his arms folded, a look of disappointment on his face. An unfamiliar woman stood behind him. It could only be his mother Alanna, but for Steve, her long, dark grey hair and finely lined face marked her as Olivia-Who-Might-Have-Been. A family matriarch, who had lived to see old age and grandchildren.

“Hello, Steve,” she said softly.

Steve suddenly felt like his head was twenty miles under water, buckling from the pressure. He shrank sideways and fell into the doorframe, gritting his teeth against the pain. John and his mother watched him impassively. He tried to brace himself against the wood. “W-we need to call a doctor,” he gasped. “For Emma. She – she –“

“She’s doing her best,” Alanna said firmly. “I can’t say I approve of the method, but John taught her well and she’s a big girl, now. She knows what works best for her. After her little accident this morning, I think what she needs is some alone time. Why don’t we head back downstairs?”

Her voice sounded muffled to Steve’s ears, utterly nonsensical. He glanced back at Emma, but she was staring at the ground, the scissors in her hand trembling faintly.

John moved closer. “Come on, let’s go and talk about this downstairs. I’ll make coffee.”

He placed his hand on Steve’s arm. Sharp pain raced across his skin, as though he was being cut by a knife as well. He cried and stumbled back, into Emma’s room. “Don’t touch me,” he said.

“Steve. Come on, now. We need to talk.”

The pair of them advanced, and Steve backed away until he hit the wall. “Stop it, stop it, stop it,” he muttered. The rain was falling harder now. He could hear it lashing against every window in the house, angry and wild.

“Calm down, Steve,” John said.

“Just breathe deeply,” Alanna advised. Her voice was soft and soothing, just like his mother.

Steve tried, he really did. He breathed in sharply through his nose, he clutched his head, he tried to think of something, _anything_ that might ground him back in the present. _The rest is confetti … the rest is confetti … the rest is confetti …_ Something hit the bedroom window, hard. He and Emma both jumped.

“That’s enough, now,” John said, an edge to his voice. He stepped forward and grabbed Steve by his arms. “I said, _enough._ ”

Black fireworks burst across his vision and his limbs seized up, overcome with pain. He had a sudden flash of the House, of Home. He was rushing through the long, dark hallways, up the stairs and through the maze-like rooms. Eyes stared at him from the shadows, watching him go by. Finally, he found himself in front of a red door. It opened on his mother, standing in the centre of the room. She spun around to face him. Her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprised delight.

“Steve, my darling boy,” she said. “It’s so good to see you!”

Back in Emma’s room, the window shattered and everything went black.

_

Most people couldn’t ever remember the moment they fall asleep, but they usually remembered the moment they woke up. Shirley had always been different. As a child, she’d talked in her sleep, to the point where her siblings couldn’t stand having to share a room with her. Sometimes, if she was sick or stressed out, she also sleepwalked. In the months following her mom’s death, Aunt Janet had been frightened countless times by Shirley wandering around the house or muttering to herself as she paced back and forth. She could never remember the dreams that drove her out of bed, or identify the transition between sleeping and waking. She would just blink and find herself sitting up in bed, or standing in another spot completely.

Aunt Janet could never wake her up. Steve could, sometimes. Theo never bothered, she just took her arm and dragged her back to the bedroom. Sometimes the sound of Nell crying did the trick, and Shirley would find herself standing in the twins’ room with no memory of getting there (a phenomenon which did _not_ help poor Nell calm down, oddly enough).

As she grew up, the sleepwalking went away, and the sleep talking became less of a problem. She thought it must be because she felt in control of her life for the first time – she had a family, a job, and a busy life that wore her out, but it was all hers and there was no more drifting around at the mercy of forgotten nightmares.

At least, that was what she thought. Later, after Nell, her dad’s mysterious death, and her own sordid confession, Kevin told her that she often said strange things in her sleep. He said most of it was nonsense, but every so often he’d find himself reflecting on a word or a phrase for days afterwards, until it finally reappeared in the waking world. She’d talked about _my little girl_ for a week before finding out that she was pregnant with Ally. _Mrs Jones_ , _Old Nan Beryl,_ and _The Man in the Blue Sweater_ made appearances in their bed long before they wound up in Shirley’s lab, ready for embalming. She’d known Nellie was in the Red Room.

Kevin assured her that it had never scared him. Shirley wished she could say the same.

The night after Theo went back home, it happened again. At around midnight, Shirley found herself sitting up in bed, breathing heavily. Adrenaline was shooting through her body and her ears were ringing, but she didn’t know _why._

“Shirl?” Kevin grunted, putting a hand on her arm.

“What …” Shirley put a hand to her head. It was aching like crazy. “What did I say?”

He pulled himself up to sit beside her. “I don’t know, it was jumbled. Something about Steve, though.”

“Steve?” Before she could begin to process the dread that was starting to build, she heard footsteps pounding up the stairs and down the hall, getting louder and louder. Their door suddenly slammed open, making them both yell in shock. But it was just Luke standing in the doorway, his shoulders heaving.

“The _hell_ , man?” Kevin demanded, fumbling for the bedside lamp.

Luke ignored him. When the light turned on, Shirley found he was looking at her, wild-eyed with panic. “Shirl, it. It’s Steve. Something’s wrong. Nell woke me up, she was screaming. She said he was in danger.”

Shirley shook her head, trying to make sense of it all. She felt like she was stuck in a helpless nightmare, with the air moving thick and slow around her.

“Mommy?” Ally poked her head into the room. Jayden was behind her, rubbing his eyes. “What’s wrong? Why is Uncle Luke inside?”

Luke drew her attention back. He fell to his knees beside the bed and grabbed her hand. “Please, Shirl, you have to believe me,” he implored.

She took a deep breath and nodded.


	9. Followers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have Luke and Theo going on an intrepid adventure. Sorry for everyone who wanted a Steve update - it's coming, I promise!
> 
> Thanks everyone :)

The call came at a ridiculously early hour. Theo had been grumpy it, but as soon as Shirley mentioned that Steve might have gotten his ass into some kind of danger, she threw on some clothes and was ready to leave within five minutes. Trish stood in the doorway, watching her anxiously. “Are you sure I shouldn’t come with you?” she asked.

“It’s a family thing.”

“Theo we’re getting married,” Trish pointed out. “That makes me part of the family.”

“I know, okay, I just –” Theo squeezed the bridge of her nose and sighed. She knew she was making herself look bad, especially after the conversation they’d just had about trust, but she didn’t have the space of mind to explain herself right now. Trish might be trying to understand all the supernatural baggage that happened to be the Crain legacy, but she wasn’t _trapped_ by it the way Theo and her siblings were. She was too good for it, and Theo couldn’t have her getting hurt by it. She just couldn’t. The other, more shameful reason was that family crises brought out the best and the worst of them. Mostly the worst, besides a few rare exceptions. With Shirley, Luke and Steve, Theo could be as much of a dysfunctional, cowardly bitch as she wanted, and it wouldn’t ruin anything that hadn’t been broken from the start. It was an odd kind of security, and one she just didn’t have with Trish.

Putting all that aside for now, Theo took her fiancée’s hand and gave it a brief, reassuring squeeze. “Just let me see what’s going on, first. Shirl or Luke might just be freaking out over nothing. I’ll call you once I know more.”

After a moment, Trish nodded and gave her a quick kiss. “I’ll be here.”

While Theo drove to Shirley’s place, breaking just a few strategic road rules to make the journey shorter, she found herself relieved that she and Trish hadn’t moved too far away. At times, Theo had romantic notions of packing it all up and going travelling, but it wasn’t realistic. Theo enjoyed her work too much to just throw it all away. Besides, a part of her had still felt obligated to stick around while Luke was recovering, just in case he or Shirley did something stupid. This whole thing with Ally only confirmed that she’d made the right choice.

Somehow, Theo hadn’t imagined that _Steve_ would be the one to make her worry.

When she arrived, Theo didn’t bother to knock, instead letting herself straight inside. She found Shirley pacing back and forth across the lounge in her pyjamas, talking to someone on the phone. Luke was seated, but looked equally as restless, hunched over and wringing his hands together while his knee bounced up and down. Somewhere upstairs, she could hear Kevin talking softly to the children.

“Okay. No, that’s fine. Call back if you find something. Thanks, Leigh,” Shirley was saying, before she hung up he phone. “She’s checking his accounts, hopefully find out where he’s staying.”

Theo made a face. “I thought he was in Maine?”

“Maine is a reasonably big place,” she said sarcastically. “He didn’t tell me exactly where he was staying, and he didn’t even tell Leigh he was going there in the first place, and so now she wants to murder him and I’m not going to stop her.”

“She might not need to,” Luke said in a low voice.

Shirley rounded on him. “Don’t say that!”

“I assume you’ve tried calling,” Theo interrupted.

“Many times. Straight to voicemail.”

“Facebook? Emails? Fuck, Twitter?”

 “He’s not going to be on Twitter, Theo!”

Luke stood up and started pacing around. He looked as gaunt and fidgety as Theo had ever seen him, even in the midst of his worst withdrawals. But his eyes were sharp and focused. She watched him warily, not liking the tense energy that coiled around him. “We’re wasting time. We need to go find him.”

Shirley held her hands out. “Let’s just take it back a step, okay? We have no real evidence that Steve is in trouble, it’s the middle of the night, and …”

“We don’t need evidence,” he snapped. “You said you’d believe me!”

“Keep it down! You’ve already terrified the kids enough for one night.” Shirley closed her eyes and sighed. “I believe you about Nell, okay, I do. But she’s not connected to him like she is to you, right? So how does she know?”

“How did she know about that kid in the tree?” he demanded. “It doesn’t make sense, I get that. But it’s true. We just know.”

Theo noted his use of ‘we’ and didn’t know how to feel about it.

“Well, what’s she saying now?” Shirley asked.

Luke made a noise of frustration. “She’s not here right now.”

Theo’s head was starting to hurt. She wandered into the kitchen in search of alcohol, keeping an eye on her sister and brother as they bickered back and forth. She couldn’t find the whiskey she’d left last time (Shirley probably poured it down the drain, because she was a bitch like that sometimes), but she did locate a half-full bottle of pinot noir in the pantry. She twisted the cap off and didn’t bother to get a glass.

“I’m just saying, being a screaming omen of death isn’t very useful,” Shirley was arguing. “Did she give you anything to work with? A location?”

“Well what about you? You dreamed about it, what did you see?”

Theo choked on a mouthful of wine. “Beg pardon?” she said, staring pointedly at her sister.

Shirley made a face and shook her head, as if she thought they were being silly. “That’s not. I mean. It was just a nightmare.”

“Bullshit,” Luke said vehemently. “Tell Theo what really happened.”

“I … okay, well, I woke up in a bit of a panic, and _apparently_ said something about Steve. According to my husband. But that doesn’t mean anything. I don’t even remember it.”

Theo wished she had something stronger than wine. “Shirl …”

“It’s nothing!”

Luke walked towards the door. “Whatever. I’m going to Maine. I’m gonna find him.”

“Yeah, with what money?” Theo demanded.

He faltered for a moment, then the stubborn look came back. “I’ll hitchhike if I have to.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Shirley said, collapsing in a chair. “My head is killing me.”

The three of them lapsed into a tense, awkward silence. Luke shoved his hands in his pockets, apparently not keen on going to Maine without financial assistance, despite his bravado. Theo finished her wine, looking side-long at her sister and wondering what other secrets she’d been keeping. Shirley’s method of denial wasn’t quite the same as Steve’s, but arguably more effective. Whereas he would perform all kinds of mental contortions to convince himself that a ghost was not a ghost, Shirley would look at the ghost, acknowledge its presence, and then turn around and ignore it. It was the same passive-aggressive approach she took to everything and everyone else who didn’t fit into her perfect world. Typical that she’d do the same thing with her own dreams.

After a long minute, Shirley’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it quickly. “It’s Leigh,” she said. “She logged onto Steve’s email account and just sent me the hotel address.”

Theo spread her arms. “Well?”

“It’s, um.” Shirley swallowed.

“What? What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s a perfectly fine hotel. I just.” Unexpectedly, she buried her face in her hands. “I never should have asked him to go.”

Luke went back and sat down beside her, gently taking the phone from her hands. “It’s okay. I’ll bring him back.”

Theo set the empty bottle down decisively. “Me, too.”

Shirley glanced between the two of them. “I suppose … Kevin can probably manage the next few funerals by himself,” she said uncertainly.

“No,” Theo said. “I can put off work for a few days, but it’s harder for you. Besides, your kids are scared. They need you to stick around. Luke and I will go.”

Her brow furrowed. “But ...”

“No buts. We’ll be fine.” she glanced at Luke and he nodded seriously. “But if you have any more dreams, I wanna be the first to know, okay?”

She wiped her eyes. “The dreams don’t really mean anything.”

“ _Shirl_.”

“…Fine.”

_

Some of Luke’s agitation fell away as soon as they were on route, but he was still quiet and introspective, curled around himself in the passenger seat. Occasionally he whispered something under his breath or jerked his head to the side. It was creepy as fuck. Theo gripped the steering wheel and forced herself not comment. However, after a long stretch where he didn’t make any kind of sound at all, she couldn’t help herself.

“Well? What’s she saying?”

He shrugged. “Not much. She’s not really talking to me at all. What she’s saying doesn’t make sense. It’s all just symbols and metaphors. And feelings.”

“Typical Nell,” Theo muttered.

Luke paused again. “I keep getting … images. Of Hill House.”

Theo shot him a panicked look. “What? He’s not there, is he? He can’t be!”

“I don’t think so. Not physically, anyway.”

“What the fuck does _that_ mean?”

He frowned, as if trying to read something written in Greek and translate it back to Theo using hieroglyphics. “Maybe nothing. It might just represent that she’s worried about Steve dying. Or something.”

Theo shook her head and gave up. She really hoped this was legit, and not some wild goose chase. Nell had sent them on a few of those while she’d been alive. _Christ_ , but she hated thinking of Nell this way. Usually when a loved one died, all the frustration and suspicion fell away to make room for mourning. She felt robbed of that. It would be okay if she thought Nell was in a better place, but Theo didn’t think she was. Not at all.

She called Trish when they stopped for gas.

 _“How can I help?”_ was the first thing her fiancée asked after Theo was done explaining, because she was an actual angel.

Theo was about to say _nothing, I’ll handle it_ , but then her eyes caught on Luke, standing several feet away and staring at a vending machine like it might spit out the secrets of the universe for him along with a Red Bull. Theo bit her lip, considering. “Actually, um. Do any of those books you bought have anything on how to talk to dead people? Like, properly? Because the one we’ve got is not making any kind of sense, and …” _and I just want to be able to talk to my little sister again_. Theo swallowed the thought down. "I know Marie was all about the therapeutic communication approach and normally I'd be all over that, but we don't have time. I'll take a crystal, or a ouji board. Anything, really."

 _“I’ll look,”_ Trish said immediately. _“And if not, I’ll go talk to Marie again.”_

“Thanks. Love you.”

_“Love you, too. Call me anytime, okay?”_

“Will do.”

Leigh had called the hotel Steve had been staying at, and confirmed that he’d checked out earlier that evening, but there was no record of any flights or transportation being paid for. As far as Theo knew, she was currently trying to get in touch with Cynthia Drew, his last known point of contact. Theo felt bad for Leigh. She’d played this game enough with Luke in the past, tracing his footsteps for hours with increasing worry and frustration until finally locating him in some drug den. But Steve was Leigh’s husband, and she should be able to trust him. To find out he’d been lying to her for the last week, and then disappear of the face of the earth, wouldn’t do their already strained marriage any good. Steve would have to actually be dead in a ditch somewhere for any of this to be justified, and Theo is pretty sure they’d know if he was dead.

Luke took over for the next leg of the journey, while Theo dozed off against the window. When she woke up, feeling cold and with a crick in her neck, she saw that it was now properly daylight and they’d reached Augusta.

“Leigh messaged,” Luke told her, when they stopped again. “Got us an address for the Quells’ old house.”

“Do you think Steve will be there?”

He shrugged helplessly. “Where else can we start?”

She sighed. According to Google Maps, it was another hour of driving away. “Food and coffee first,” she said.

“I don’t think we should waste any time,” he tried to argue.

“Not a fucking suggestion, Luke.”

He slouched down in his seat. “I’ll wait in the car.”

“Don’t you want to stretch your Sasquatch legs?”

Reluctantly, he got out of the car. Theo squinted at him. “You need to eat more. You look like a scarecrow.”

“And you sound like Shirley,” he grumbled, following her into a Starbucks. “I’m not even that thin. Steve’s thinner than me.”

“Yeah, but he’s a nerd. You hit the gene lottery and still managed to fuck your body over.”

Luke inclined his head, acknowledging the truth of it. Inside the café, he looked spectacularly uncomfortable and out of place, and people were giving him some odd looks as he twitched and mouthed silent words to himself. It seemed more noticeable in public. Or maybe it was exacerbated by his nerves. She realised this was probably the furthest he’d travelled from home in a while, and if it weren’t for the fact that Steve might be in trouble, he’d never have agreed to go on some road trip with her. Theo sighed and linked their arms together, silently telling people _don’t worry, he belongs to me_ , but also, _fuck off with your judgemental stares._

They got back on the road again, armed with a decent number of calories. Luke appeared immediately more relaxed. He also tucked into the food eagerly, as if only just remembering that his body needed sustenance.

Theo was vividly reminded of that time back in her senior year of high school, where she’d let the twins tag along on a trip out to friend’s lake house. It had been a real clusterfuck of a weekend; she’d spent most of it trying to stop a drunk, high Nell from leaping off the highest rocks and trying to snuggle up with the older boys. Luke had wandered off into the woods in a stoned haze and hadn’t been found until the next day. To top it all off, Theo’s best friend’s sister had a gay panic after she finally managed to kiss her, and never wanted to speak to her again.

All three of them had sworn to never speak of the incident again, partly so Steve and Shirley wouldn’t find out, but also because Theo wanted to purge it from her memory. And yet. There had been a moment, driving home in the wee hours of Monday morning, where Nell and Luke were slumped over each other in the backseat surrounded by half-eaten McDonalds, and they’d said it was the _best weekend ever_.

Little shits.

They drove out into the country, looking out at the acres of farmland interspersed with patches of misty woods. Luke started bouncing his leg up and down again. Theo felt herself grow tense as she navigated the sparse web of dirt roads and overgrown fields.

Eventually, the sat nav took them to a long gravel driveway. “This is it,” Theo muttered, peering up the path. “Am I the only one with a very bad feeling about this?”

Luke shook his head.

Sighing, she turned in and started making her way up the road. “If anyone jumps out at me, we’re accelerating first, then asking questions later. Got it?”

“What if it’s Steve?”

“ _Especially_ if it’s Steve.”

Eventually, the driveway took them to a rusted old farm gate, and beyond it, a house. If Hill House had been an evil aristocrat of a structure, monstrous but elegant in its own way, then this place was like that chick from _Misery_ ; unassuming, frumpy, somewhat charming on a surface level, but utterly insane. Regardless, both houses evoked a strong sense of dread in Theo’s stomach.

“I don’t see any other cars. Steve’s probably not here. Maybe we should …”

Luke was already out of the car as soon as it slowed to a halt. Theo sighed and followed him. “Sure, no problem. We’ll just let ourselves straight into the serial killer commune.”

The two of them pushed through the fence and made their way across the long grass, feeling the mud squish beneath their boots. As they walked around to the front of the house, Theo spotted a tire swing closer to the lake, and found herself moving closer. She occasionally felt compelled to touch certain objects. It was an urge she ignored, for the most part, because inanimate objects had no business trying to seek attention, and she didn’t trust them. But why else were they here, if not to search for information?

Theo ran her hand lightly over the rough surface. One moment passed, then another, and then the images started to emerge slowly, as if awakening from a long slumber. She saw two children pushing each other on the swing, scaring each other by making it go higher and higher. She felt the wind rushing through her hair and the low swoop in her belly as she arced over the lake.

Beneath that, there was a deeper sense of loneliness. She was sitting on the tire, staring out at the lake. Not swinging, not laughing. Just sitting very still while the rain fell softly around her, and voices screamed behind her.

Very suddenly, Theo found herself in an all-too-familiar memory. She was sitting in Aunt Janet’s backyard, staring down at her lap. Back in the house, Steve and Dad were yelling at each other while Shirley shrieked and cried, begging them to stop. Theo ought to have intervened, or at least felt something. But all she felt was numb.

Theo wrenched her hand away, the memory tearing like fragile paper. The tire swung innocently in the wind, creaking on its branch.

“Rude,” she told it.

“Theo?” Luke said. He was standing close by, watching her cautiously. “What did you see?”

Theo turned away from the swing. “There were kids here. Obviously. They had some good times and bad times, like anyone. Nothing abnormal.”

Luke didn’t look quite convinced, but he let her lead the way up to the porch. Theo gripped the railing to steady herself on the old wooden steps. Suddenly, she got another image. This one was quicker, and much newer. It was Steve, standing right here and looking up at the house. Theo gasped and stumbled back.

“Theo?” Luke said, alarmed. He held out an arm to steady her.

“He was here,” she told him, flexing her hand. “Recently. Probably just a couple of days ago.”

Luke glanced at the house hopefully. “Is he still here?”

“I really fucking hope not,” she said. “But I guess we really need to break into this empty house now, huh?”

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “It wouldn’t hurt to be sure? I can’t see any alarms or cameras, and the closest house is at least a mile away.”

“Well, you’re the expert on these things,” she told him.

Ignoring her jab at his former lifestyle, he walked up to the door and gripped the handle. With restrained force, he threw his weight into it, breaking it open instantly.

Theo raised her eyebrows, impressed in spite of herself.

The door opened up into a dark room. Luke flicked the lights on, revealing a sparse, unfurnished kitchen-lounge area. It clearly hadn’t been updated since the eighties, if the excessive wood-panelling gave any indication. The benches were coated in dust. Hesitantly, Theo stretched out her hands and trailed her fingertips over the walls as she followed Luke through the house. He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Be careful,” he said.

“I can handle it,” she said shortly.

They continued to wander through the house. It was dead silent except for their footsteps creaking on the floorboards. They passed through a lot of cold, empty rooms. Still, there were signs that many people had lived here through the years – scuff marks in the doorways, height charts on the wall, countless little stains and flaws. They all held a story, but Theo couldn’t pick up on anything strange. Suddenly, she stopped outside one of the bedrooms, frowning. She could feel herself being pulled inside, and reluctantly followed the urge. Luke watched her silently from the doorway.

Without any furniture, it was hard to get a solid sense of anything. At a loss for where to start, she stood in the centre of the room and crouched down to press her fingers to the dusty floor.

Like the old tire swing outside, it took a few moments to surface. There were no images this time; just pure, childish anger. Theo felt too small for all the rage inside her body, could sense it bubbling under her skin like a pot on the stove, until suddenly it was all too much and she just had to let it out.

 _Bang!_ The old wooden cupboard flew open. Theo jumped upright in shock and Luke lurched into the room, his arm stretched out in front of her. They stared at the cupboard with wide eyes, its door bouncing against the plaster. Inside, it was clearly empty.

A few seconds passed before Theo exhaled. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s nothing, just some kid’s tantrum from years ago.”

“A little spill?” he asked.

“Yeah. Something like that.” She smirked. “After all the shit we’ve seen, and now we’re scared of built-in closets.”

He smiled shakily. Then a thoughtful look crossed his face. “Do you usually feel things like that?”

“No. Not really.” Theo crossed her arms and frowned at the closet. “I wonder …”

“What?”

Theo thought of all the weird activity that had surrounded her family since she was a kid. The banging on the walls. Nell’s casket falling over. Violent storms with no reasonable explanation. Even now, knowing that they’d been haunted their whole lives, Theo still thought some of that stuff was just too personal. Like all of their collective fucked-up-ness just got too big to contain, and occasionally exploded out into the real world. Theo thought about this, and the slow realisation made her whole world tilt just slightly out of focus. At the same time, everything seemed so much clearer now. “Shit, Luke,” she said faintly. “We’re weirder than I thought.”

He frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

Another bang echoed from somewhere in the house. Suddenly, she wasn’t afraid anymore. “Come on,” Theo said, leading the way out of the room. “Let’s go meet the rest of the folks.”


	10. Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we return to our regularly scheduled Steve whump. For the commentator who thought he might wake up tied to a chair - soooo close! btw I was blown away by all the comments from last chapter, thank you all so much!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: child abuse (physical) and non-consensual drug use.

His mom was waiting for him in her reading room. He watched her from the doorway as he dithered, hesitant to intrude upon her quiet space. She reassured him with a warm smile and beckoned him inside.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked.

“Why do you think something’s wrong?”

She tilted her head. “I always know when you’re upset, Steve.”

Of course she did. Steve looked down, abashed at the notion that he could ever hide anything from her. Tutting fondly, she drew him in close and sat him on her lap.

“Mom, I’m not a little kid,” he complained.

“Oh, but you’ll always be my little boy,” she said, kissing the back of his head. “I won’t tell. Promise.”

Steve sighed and leaned back against her, feeling all his stress and worries disappear. He’d never admit it, but he missed this. He was big brother, the eldest, and now it was his turn to look after the little ones. Not Shirley, maybe, and Theo would tell him to take a hike, but Luke and Nell needed him to be strong. They needed Mom, too, more than he did. He didn’t get to be coddled anymore.

“Hush, Steve,” she said, rocking lightly back and forth. “It’s okay. You’ve been such a good big brother, but you’ll always be my boy.”

He realised she was sitting at her dressing table, the one he’d painted for her. Their eyes met in the mirror. Steve looked ridiculous – a thirteen-year-old boy sitting on his mom’s lap, too tall and awkward for his own good – but in that moment, he didn’t care. He just wanted to look at his mom’s face and soak up all the love and warmth she had to offer.

“Can we read something?” he heard himself ask.

“I would love that,” she said. “Here, what about this one.”

She opened the draw of her dresser and pulled out a book. Steve saw the cover and some of his quiet euphoria faded. _Return to Hill House_. He frowned. “Mom?”

“This is one of my favourites,” she said. “It’s your best work. I’m so proud of you.”

“I didn’t write that,” he blurted out.

She just smiled fondly at him and opened the book. “Of course you did. You wrote all about coming home, remember? Those words, they were so simple, but so beautiful. I am _home._ ”

Steve squirmed, suddenly wanting to get off her lap, out of the room, out of the house. Her grip was as strong as iron. She held his wrist in her free hand, firm and unyielding. It was almost comforting. “Shh, it’s okay,” she soothed.

“I need to go,” he said.

“No, Stevie. It’s better here. I’ll look after you.”

He wanted so desperately to believe her. There was pain in his head and fear in his heart, and he wanted his mom to fix it for him. Maybe the book wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe he could stay. Maybe she would be okay this time.

He looked back up in the mirror, and gasped. There was a new face staring back at them from the back of the room. It was a pale woman with corpse-like skin, her neck bent unnaturally to one side. Her eyes were wide and dead, but somehow staring at him with deep intensity. Steve heard his breaths coming quick and shallow, and felt his hands start to shake.

“Stevie, what is it?” his mom asked, concerned. Then she, too, glanced up at the mirror.

 _“I said no, Mommy,”_ the spectre warned. Then the mirror shattered.

_

Steve startled awake, the sound of broken glass still ringing in his ears. For a moment he just lay there with his eyes closed, waiting for his heart to stop racing. But the longer he lay still, the more he realised how dizzy and sluggish he felt. He must have gone to bed drunk. Really drunk. Come to think of it, so drunk he didn’t even remember going to bed.

He really needed to cut back on the whiskey. The vicious nightmares were not worth it.

Steve pried his eyes open and beheld an unfamiliar ceiling. The cracked plaster swam and circled above him nauseatingly. He tried to rub his eyes, but found that he couldn’t move his hands

“Don’t struggle. It’ll just hurt,” a voice from his side said.

Steve turned his head, expecting to see his mother sitting there holding his wrists still. Instead he found Emma Quell on an old armchair, her knees drawn up to her chest. She scowled at him sadly. “I did tell you to leave, you know.”

He looked down the length of his body and saw that he was lying in some kind of hospital bed. There were railings alongside the edge of the bed, and his wrists were bound there with plastic cuffs. He tugged at them ineffectually, panic starting to sink through the haze in his head. Emma watched him impassively.

“What … what is this?” he tried to say.

She shrugged. “It’s what happens when you break things.”

“Break things?”

“Yeah, the window upstairs. You did that. Not me.” She looked at him accusingly.

Steve shook his head, trying to stop it from spinning. “I didn’t …”

“Yes you did!” she insisted. “That’s why you’re in the bed and not me!”

Steve looked at her with dawning horror. “They tied you up here too?”

Emma scoffed. “Not for, like, five years. I can control myself, not like you.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to that. There was a big, black void in his brain, and it seemed to be eating all of his common sense. All it left behind was fear. But he didn’t know why and Emma wasn’t giving him the answers he needed. “Where am I?”

“The basement.”

“ _Your_ basement?”

“Duh.”

He lifted his head off the pillow, trying to take stock of his surroundings. It was a large room, cluttered with all sorts of objects. A single lightbulb hung above them, casting shadows across the ceiling and the narrow flight of stairs in the corner. It certainly looked like a basement. That was just wonderful. “Where are your parents?”

She shrugged again. “Upstairs.”

“Did they do this to me?”

“Obviously.”

He threw his head back on the pillow, huffing sardonically. Of course. Of course his extended family would turn out to be total nutjobs. It wasn’t even a surprise. “I don’t suppose you’re gonna help me get out of here?”

Emma opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the basement door creaking open. “Emma?” John’s voice called down the stairs. “You in here?”

Shooting Steve a look that was almost guilty – for herself or because of him, he didn’t know – she unfolded herself from the armchair and shuffled over to the stairs. She then looked up defiantly. “What?”

He heard John sigh. “I told you not to come down here. Get back upstairs, your mom needs some help cleaning up.”

Emma muttered something derogatory under her breath, but did as he said. As soon as she was out of sight, Steve’s panic increased. The basement door stayed open. After a few seconds, as her footsteps faded out of sight, John shut the door behind him and descended. He got to the bottom and gave Steve a sympathetic look. “Ah, hell,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was hoping you wouldn’t wake up until morning at least. That stuff’s supposed to knock a man out.”

Steve stared at him. “You drugged me?”

“I had to. You would’ve hurt someone otherwise. Most likely yourself.” He sat down heavily in the armchair. “It’s just a sedative, nothing to worry about.”

“Is that right?” Steve said, his fear giving way to anger. “I don’t think it’ll make a damn difference to the police.”

“Probably not, but I don’t see any of them around here, do you?” John said.

Steve considered his options. He could play nice, convince John to somehow unlock his cuffs. They’d been building some kind of rapport before the whole kidnapping thing. Maybe he could charm his way out of this. Or, he could scream.

As if reading his mind, John grabbed a roll of duct tape from one of the nearby shelves. He held it up so Steve could see it properly, a solemn look on his face. “Make no mistake, Steve. These walls are fully soundproofed, alright? We did it back when Emma was just a little thing and starting to have some issues. So the folks next door won’t hear a thing if you kick up a fuss. But the girls upstairs might hear, and I don’t want to distress them. Make too much noise and I’ll have to gag you. Are we clear?”

Steve’s jaw clicked shut. He swallowed down his fear. “What the fuck is going on?”

John leaned back in his chair, looking for all the world like they were having one of their conversations upstairs in the lounge. “Makes sense you don’t remember. Emma had blackout for days when her issues first started. I was the same, way back when.” He sighed. “You’ve never had any kind of training, have you?”

“Training for what?”

The man looked at him incredulously. “Seriously? After everything you wrote about, you don’t know?”

Steve thought he might be close to screaming regardless of the threat. “ _What_?”

“Our family, Steve. We’ve got the devil in us, always have. Things were just never right with me growing up – stuff moving around when I got mad, fires getting lit when no one struck a match, you know, that kind of thing. My mom had it similar. Emma, she had it bad. She was always seeing demons in the shadows. And when she had tantrums, my God, she’d almost bring the house down. I thought we’d never get it under control. Still, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone flip out the way you did. All the windows upstairs, completely wrecked, can you believe that? Poor Suze, she’s been sweeping up all night.”

Steve didn’t feel like he and John were on the same plane of reality right now. He felt disconnected, drifting through time and space. Nothing made sense. “I don’t understand.”

John smiled sadly. “My mom explains it better. She’ll tell you all about it.”

Steve did not want to talk to John’s mother. He wanted to get out of here. Somewhat desperately he said, “Look, I’m sorry I came here, alright? I’ll leave you alone, I won’t come back, I won’t tell anyone But you have to let me go, okay? My wife, my sister, they’ll be worried.”

John gave him a considering look. “Right, your sister. You got three, right? And a brother? Do they have the devil as bad as you?”

All the blood in Steve’s veins turned to ice. All this time he’d been running his mouth off about Luke, Shirley, Theo, even Nell, pretending she was still alive. John could find his siblings. They weren’t hard to track down, any of them (Luke might have been, once, but now he was safe in Shirley’s guest house). If these maniacs had it in their head to kidnap more Crains, what was to stop them from following through? “Don’t talk about them,” he warned quietly.

“Why not? That’s why you came to find us, right? To find out what was wrong with your family?”

“No.” He started tugging at his restraints again. They were designed to be painless, but he could feel his wrists starting to sting nonetheless.

“Isn’t that why you didn’t have any kids, Steve? Because you knew what they might be like?”

“No! That was different, I was wrong, I thought we were …” he swallowed his words.

“What, crazy? Maybe not, but you knew something was off. And you were right. All of us, Quells and Crains, all the way back to the roots of our family tree, we were all cursed. The devil has his hold on us.”

“You’re insane,” Steve snapped.

John leaned forward earnestly. “But it doesn’t have to be that way, Steve. All of us, we found salvation. Through faith and sacrifice. We’re not enslaved to his dark whims. Not like your poor mom or sister. Oh, I looked her up, saw the obituary. I know she took her own life.”

“Shut up!”

“All it takes is a little discipline,” John said, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. In the pale skin of his upper arm, there were faint, crucifix-shaped scars. “A little bit of pain, to bring us back. It’s easier than you think. If you’d just let me …”

He reached forward, and Steve’s brain short-circuited in panic. Spots of electric black bloomed across his vision, and a pressure built up behind his eyelids. The armchair skid backwards. It was only a foot or so, but it was enough to throw John off balance. He stumbled to his feet, looking alarmed.

For a long moment, the two men stared at each other. Steve was breathing heavily, trying to hold on to consciousness. He had no idea what just happened, but he was terrified that reality was beginning to slip through his fingers. He had to stay strong. He _had_ to.

Eventually, John huffed a laugh, planting both his hands on his hips. “Okay. I see we’re gonna have to do this the hard way.”

Steve watched as he went over to one of the shelves and started rifling through a white, plastic box. He took out a small glass bottle and a syringe. Steve felt his heart sink. “Wait. Wait, don’t.”

“It’s alright. Emma needed a little extra help, too.” He filled the syringe and flicked it a couple of times. “I meant what I said, it’s just a sedative. To calm you down. Make it all stop.”

He approached again. Steve thrashed and struggled and yelled. He even tried to bring the _thing_ back, the black fireworks and the _push_ behind his eyes, but all he felt was tired. John took hold of his bound arm and inserted the syringe with ease of practice. Steve watched it sink into his skin with a kind of horrified fascination. He wondered if Luke had felt this way, back in the Red Room with rat poison being poured unwillingly into his veins. He wondered how many times Emma had been made to feel this helpless.

“That’s it,” John said soothingly. “You just rest, now. We’ll talk more when you’re feeling better.”

The room swooped around in lazy circles. Darkness crept slowly in at the corners of Steve’s vision, beckoning him closer to sleep and surrender. He felt tears of frustration leak out the corners of his eyes.

“And don’t you worry. This is a safe place, and the devil can’t find you here.”

_

Luke followed Theo through the lake house, hyperaware of every creak and groan that his footsteps made against the old floors. He felt like an intruder. There were no eerie statues or hidden ghosts watching him go by, but he felt scrutinised nonetheless, and found wanting. He supposed it was because he had no idea what they were looking for.

Theo was oddly enthusiastic about their exploration. She was touching everything in sight, and occasionally telling him what she could sense. Mostly they were disparate anecdotes of their grandmother’s family; sometimes she saw them in great detail, and other times it was just a brief snapshot in time. Luke didn’t really get how her abilities worked, since she’d never wanted to discuss it before (not with him, at any rate) and on any other day he’d be interested. Right now, it was just making him antsy. He kept expecting her to come across something truly horrifying, and there was nothing he could do to protect her if that happened.

Theo had never struck Luke as the type of person to need protection. But then, neither had Steve. Luke had always seen himself as the weakest link in the family chain, constantly in need of saving, and so the idea that his older siblings might have to rely on him was kind of terrifying.

Fingertips ghosted across the back of his hand, a comfort and a warning all in one. _Tread carefully_.

Luke exhaled. Thank Christ he wasn’t completely alone in this.

Theo led them down a small flight of stairs, into a room that was once probably a basement but had been converted into some kind of living area. Unlike the rest of the house, this room was cluttered in furniture. There was a lumpy sofa, a pool table, a boxy television, and dozens of carboard boxes. Theo made an appreciative noise.

“Here we go,” she muttered.

Luke hung back as she poked around the room. He felt a brief flare of impatience, hoping she didn’t want to go through every single box. It was understandable that she wanted to know more about their family, but Steve had to be their priority, and it was pretty obvious he wasn’t here. Luke was starting to regret coming in the first place.

A flicker of white fabric caught his eye. He glanced up, and saw Nell hunched over one of the cardboard boxes in the corner of the room, behind the sofa. He frowned and wandered over. “What is it?” he whispered.

She didn’t reply or look at him, just scratched frantically at the cardboard lid with her nails. Her eyes were hidden behind her hair, but he could see how tense she was. Luke gently crouched down beside her and took the box. “There something in here?”

She nodded tightly.

“Will it help us find Steve?”

She made a noise in the back of her throat. It sounded distressingly like a whimper. Concerned, he reached out to touch her but she flinched away as if scared that he might hit her. Luke snatched his hand back, feeling hurt.

“Luke?” Theo said warily. He glanced at her, then back at Nell, but the latter had disappeared. Sighing, he picked the box up and took it over to his older sister.

“Can we look in here?”

She raised her eyebrow at him, but didn’t question the impulse. Together, they pried the tape off and opened up the lid. Inside, it appeared to be full of folded clothes. Luke then sat back on his haunches and let Theo rummage through them. She pulled the items out one by one, rubbing her fingers over the fabric. Most of them appeared to be men’s clothes, old and worn but well-maintained. Luke was no expert, but he’d say they were at least a few decades out of fashion.

“Anything?” he prompted, after a long minute of silent contemplation from Theo.

“These were his church clothes,” she murmured, holding some kind of tweed jacket. It smelled of mildew and tobacco. “He didn’t dress up much, but he wore this to church. Kept it clean. Got Marian to mend it. Went to church every Sunday, even if he was drunk. Or hungover.”

She put the jacket aside and pulled something else out. It was a leather belt, curled up to fit inside the box. She pulled it taught in her hands, her eyes glazing over. “The girls never went. Couldn’t take them, too wild. But his son trotted along beside him. Good boy, little Olly. He got scared of the preacher sometimes, shrank back from the fire and brimstone sermons and the spittle flying from his lips. Always came, though. Never complained. Such a good boy.” Theo froze, suddenly. She stared unseeingly into the distance, the belt clutched tightly to her chest. “Daddy went to church and came home feeling righteous. Feeling angry.”

The door to the basement slammed shut. Luke jumped and spun around. There was a man standing at the top of the steps. He was middle-aged, his face worn and weathered by years spent outdoors, dressed in dirty overalls. Luke knew immediately that he wasn’t really there, but he looked so real and solid. He swayed slightly as he descended the steps, breathing heavily.

“You,” the man said, glaring at the two of them with hatred. “What’ve I told you two about meddling in witchcraft?”

“Sorry, Daddy,” Theo said tonelessly. Then she dropped the belt and clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide.

His boots fell heavy on the ground as he moved towards them. Luke scrambled to his feet, pulling Theo up with him. There was no escape. Their only way out was blocked. Dozens of panicked thoughts flew through his head; was the apparition solid, could it hurt them, _of course it could don’t be stupid_ , run, run, _run_ …

Nell’s hand landed on his shoulder, and she whispered in his ear, “Not your nightmare. Just watch.”

The man stopped a few feet away. He wasn’t overly tall, but seemed to tower over them nonetheless. He pointed a shaking finger. “You wanna bring the devil to our doorstep? Is that it?”

“No, Daddy!” It wasn’t Theo who spoke this time. Instead, a little girl appeared from behind the sofa, trembling like a leaf. She couldn’t be more than eight or nine, with long brown hair and a pale, elfin face. “We weren’t doing anything wrong!”

“Liar!” he spat. Luke, Theo, and the little girl flinched. “I saw you and your sister chanting to yourself. Making things fly about. I won’t have it in this house, you hear?”

“Mary didn’t do anything!” the girl said, a touch of defiance in spite of her terror.

“So it’s all you, then, is it? You’re the corrupting influence?”

“You’re the one whose drunk!” she shot back unexpectedly. “You’re just a mean old drunk and everyone at church knows it!”

“What did you say to me?!”

She said nothing, her fists clenched by her side. She looked so much like Nell, and so terrified, Luke just wanted to take her and run.

“Alright. Alright.” The father bent down and picked up his belt, the one Theo had left lying on the ground. “If that’s how it is, then so be it. I’ll cast that devil out, girl, make no mistake.”

She tried to make a run for it, but he grabbed her by the arm and wrenched her backwards, pushing her back against the sofa. Her underwear was yanked down and her dress was pulled up around her shoulder blades, and then he drew the belt back. He brought it down on her with a hard, sharp _thwack._ He paused to let the pain and shock set in, and then he did it over and over again. She buried her face in the cushion and wailed, her tiny hands fisting in the dusty fabric. Still, he didn’t stop, even as red welts started to bloom across her skin.

From the other side of the room, Luke glimpsed two other children huddled against the wall, crying quietly. The floor began to tremble, like an earthquake. Boxes fell to the ground and the television rocked back and forth precariously. He and Theo clutched at each other, bracing themselves against the chaos.

The man paused briefly, looking frightened for the first time. Then his face hardened. He took a switchblade out from his pocket and pressed the tip of it to the girl’s skin, right in the small of her back. “Don’t you worry, my girl,” he said, almost gentle. “I’ll fix you.”

Just as the blade dug into her skin, Theo wrenched herself forward and screamed, “No!”

The lightbulb burst, and they were plunged into darkness.

The floor settled beneath their feet, and all was suddenly quiet. Luke fumbled for his phone and put the flashlight on, casting it back and forth across the room. There was no one there, besides him and Theo. She was standing with her arm still outstretched, trying to stop a horrific act that happened decades ago. The belt was back on the ground, right where she’d first dropped it.

“A-are you okay?” he asked.

Theo dropped her arm. She looked defeated. “Let’s get out of here.”

Luke didn’t waste any time arguing. Together they ran back up the basement stairs, through the halls and finally, out the front door. They didn’t stop running until they’d made their way back across the field and reached the car. As they got inside, Luke glanced back towards the house. He saw a man in coveralls standing beside the house, watching them leave. Despite what they’d just witnessed, he didn’t look like a sick, evil child-abuser. He looked like a sentry at the border of his territory, standing firm against the all the demons in the world.


	11. Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slower updates, guys. RL is chaos right now. Thanks for your continued support :)
> 
> Warning: some more depictions of child abuse.

The next time he woke up, there were two women sitting beside his bed. They were both older and very beautiful, with long wavy hair and an empathetic smile. One of them was Alanna Quell, grayer and plumper, dressed in sensible clothes with a simple gold cross on a chain around her neck. The other was his mother.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut and groaned.

“Welcome back,” Alanna said, sponging his forehead gently with a cool rag. “Those meds really did a number on you, huh? I never liked them. At least they help with the pain.”

Steve realised she was right. It was the first time in weeks that he didn’t have some kind of headache. Rather than a relief, Steve found himself missing the pain. It kept him grounded. In his foggy, drugged state, it was hard to keep track of reality. “You more a fan of the cutting and self-flagellation?” he rasped.

She shook her head. “Not at all. I got plenty of hidings when I was young, but I never wanted to do that to my son. I tried to use words, help him understand that the accidents weren’t his fault, but they _were_ his responsibility. But he never wanted to listen. Now he knows how hard it can be, as a parent for a child with such special needs.” She smiled at him sympathetically. “I’m sure your mom felt the same.”

Steve glanced at his mother, sitting at the end of the bed with a sad, fond smile on her face. She looked so real, but it was clear Alanna didn’t see her. The last time she’d appeared to him in the waking world, in the aftermath of Nell's dead, Steve had thought he was finally having his psychotic break. It had been terrifying, but at least it had been expected. Now, he had no idea what was going on. “I don’t know anything about how my mom felt.”

“Of course. You never really had a chance to understand, did you?”

He tugged on the cuffs. They were still fastened securely, so it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “What are you planning on doing with me, exactly?” he demanded. “Kill me and bury me in the backyard? It won’t take that long for someone to realise I’m missing.”

She tutted at him. “We only want to help you, Steve. If I trusted you to leave this basement without causing anymore damage, I’d let you go right this minute. But before that happens, you need to listen, and to understand.”

It was quite clear that he had no choice either way. “Fine. What do you think you know about me?”

She leaned back thoughtfully. “John said that he broached the subject with you. He said you didn’t take it too well.”

“What, the devil’s in our blood and all that crap? Yeah, I’m a little sceptical.”

Alanna smiled faintly. “More than a little, I think. I don’t blame you. It’s kept you safe for a very long time. But then when reality comes crashing down, it hits even harder.” She tugged on her necklace. “John was quite right, but he’s never had the most, shall we say, _nuanced_ understanding of our situation. But you're a writer, so I know you can handle it. What do you know about poltergeists?”

He blinked, confused by the sudden change in topic. Old horror movies and _Harry Potter_ references ran through his head. “Uh, they’re ghosts? That, like, move stuff around? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, you’re right. Many ghosts are poltergeists. Sometimes it’s because they died traumatically, or lived terrible lives, and all that negative energy is left behind. Other times, a spirit might live in limbo for many years, unable to find peace or move on, until they slowly go rotten. Then they become a poltergeist.”

Unbidden, Steve’s eyes were drawn to his mother. She was no longer smiling. As he watched, black mould bloomed across her skin.

“Some souls, though,” Alanna continued. “Some souls are just born rotten. They are tainted from the second them come into this world, and the taint seeps out, hurting everyone around them. That’s our family, Steve. All humans are born in sin, of course, but we are just a little more steeped in it than others.”

Her words were insane, but they settled easily in Steve’s gut, alongside all his deeply buried insecurities.

“Now, it’s not all hopeless, I don’t want you to think that. We have always strived to be better, be closer to God. Your mother and grandmother never had that opportunity, but you do. Now that you understand, you can learn to control yourself, maybe help your siblings.”

It was strange. What she was offering was almost exactly what Steve had come for. He’d wanted an answer, and he’d wanted help. But then he thought of telling Shirley that she needed to strap Ally to a hospital bed and drug her up, or dragging her to some priest for an exorcism. The very notion made him nauseous. “But they’re not … they’ve never … _broken_ things,” he tried to say. “Not like this.” _Not like me._

Alanna gave him a look that was fairly condescending. “The evil manifests in different ways. But I guarantee you, we are all capable of it. Something may start out small, like a sense or a feeling, but if you don’t curb it early, it will grow. Then all it will take is one bad week, or to stumble into an evil place – like your old Hill House – and the rot will consume you.”

Olivia grabbed his ankle, startling him. _“Don’t listen,”_ she whispered. The mould was taking over her face completely, leaving her skin a blackened husk. He felt like it was seeping through the thin fabric into his leg, eating away at his own flesh.

Tearing his eyes away, Steve looked up at Alanna. “I don’t believe in God.”

Her mouth twisted. “I know. That will make it much harder. I hope, for your sake, that you can learn differently.” She glanced around the basement. “Perhaps one more night alone with your thoughts might help.”

Steve felt a strange pang of terror. At the end of the bed, Olivia grinned at him, a flash of white against her blackened skin. But he would die before begging for any of these people not to leave him, so he grit his teeth and stayed silent as she got up to leave. “I’ll bring you down some water soon, and maybe something to eat,” she said, all warm and maternal. “Please try to get some rest. Would you like some more medication, to help?”

“Hell no.”

“Alrighty then.”

She switched the light off as she left. As he was plunged into darkness, he felt his mother’s cold breath against his ear. “ _Don’t listen to her, Stevie. You’re my perfect boy, and you belong home with me.”_

-

Time passed. In his disorientated state, Steve had no ability to tell how many hours had gone by. In any case, Alanna had not come back with the food and water she’d promised. Every so often, he’d hear footsteps creak across the ceiling above him, or hear the low murmur of voices, but no one came back down to the basement. He thought about kicking up a fuss, yelling and screaming until they were forced to pay him attention, but he didn’t want to be gagged, or worse, drugged. Consciousness was all he had left at this point.

His mother stayed by his side through the dark. She brushed cold fingers over his face, hummed old lullabies under her breath, and tried to lull him to sleep. Steve pulled at his cuffs, more for the pain of it than any realistic notion that he might actually break free. The sting of his scraped wrists kept him awake. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Nell’s reflection in the mirror, her neck broken. _I said no, Mommy._

He wanted to give in. _I said no._

He just wanted to sleep. _No._

Eventually, his mom left as well. Steve could tell because he felt suddenly, viciously alone.

He wondered what Leigh was doing right now. She enjoyed having time to herself while he was away, watching some ridiculous reality TV show, or having a long bath. He wished he’d told her the truth about his trip. She didn’t deserve to have him disappear with no answers. She deserved a lot better than him in general, actually. If he somehow got through this, he wouldn't be surprised if she finally dumped him for good; there were only so many second chances a person could hold in their heart.

After a long stretch of time, he became aware that he had new company. He squinted at the figure beside his bed, uncomprehending.

“Hey, Stevie,” his dad said solemnly.

Steve jerked back, his heart pounding. His dad was sitting beside him, as middle-aged, gray and alive as he remembered. Somehow, the sight of him made him shake more than his mother had. “What are you doing here?”

His father’s hands folded in front of him. “I thought you might need me.”

It was on the tip of Steve’s tongue to say, _I don’t need you._ Even after all he’d come to learn about his father, and the grief he’d sat with for the past year, it was automatic for Steve to push back, insist that he didn’t _need_ what would never be given. It was definitely easier than admitting how much he'd missed him. “Why now? You’ve been dead for over a year.”

“Is that right?” Hugh said, mildly surprised. “It’s a little hard to keep track. I suppose I’m here now because you’re letting me be here.”

That, at least, made some kind of sense. Steve felt like the barriers of his mind had been torn to shreds, and all his insides were spilling out. Of course things would start getting in, like images of his dead parents. Or maybe they’d always been there, and he’d just been too stupid and blind to see it.

“Do you even know what’s happening right now?” Steve asked, because his looked awfully calm about the fact that his eldest son was tied to a bed in some basement. Even in Steve’s more cynical moments, he wouldn’t have thought his dad would care _that_ little.

“I know you’re in danger, and afraid,” Hugh said. “I think you’re mostly afraid of yourself.”

“No, actually, I’m more afraid of the psychotic kidnappers,” Steve said sarcastically.

“Ah, I see. Don’t worry, your sisters and your brother will be there soon.”

“They'd better not be,” Steve said, alarmed. “Wait, how do you know that?”

“Or, you could get yourself free,” his father continued, ignoring him.

Steve tugged on the cuffs for emphasis. “How?!”

“You’re stronger than you think.”

Steve threw his head back on the pillow in frustration. He’d blame his father’s vague nonsense on the fact that he was dead, but honestly, he’d always been like this. The only time Steve could remember him being honest and direct in almost thirty years was when they’d gone back to Hill House for Luke. He’d told him everything, the whole overwhelming, terrifying truth, and then he’d killed himself to save them. It was just like when Steve was thirteen, and his dad had carried him out of the house even though it was too big for it, making him feel safe one last time before disappearing altogether. It wasn’t fair that he could do that over and over again, leaving Steve feeling resentful and abandoned, but deep down wishing that his dad would just swoop in and fix everything for him one more time.

“I’m not strong,” he heard himself say. “Never had been, and definitely not right now. I don’t know why you thought it would be a great idea to leave the House to me.”

“I didn’t want to, but I knew it would be in no better hands.”

“Well you were wrong,” Steve said flatly. “I mean, look at me! My head is an open fucking wound! Just like … just like Mom. I bet if I even set foot in Hill House right now, I’d end up dead like her, too.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen, Steve,” his dad insisted, leaning forward.

He barked a laugh. “You can’t fix us, Dad. We were born broken. Fucked up from the very beginning.”

“No, Steve.” He felt the faint brush of a hand on his shoulder and turned away, unable to stomach it right now. Facing the wall with his eyes squeezed shut, he could only hear the fragile tenderness in his father’s voice, as if he were looking at his newborn child for the very first time. “You were born perfect.”

He felt tears build up behind his eyelids. “Just leave me alone,” he said thickly.

When he eventually glanced back over, Hugh was gone.

_

Steve never did fall asleep, exactly, but he drifted into a strange, dreamlike doze. Old scraps of memories kept running through his head on a loop, and he was helpless to press pause. His mom limping down the hallway. Leigh’s face when she realised he’d let her believe she was infertile. Nell calling him out at the book-signing. His father lying dead on the floor, telling Steve _this is all yours now._

The loop was finally interrupted when the basement door opened yet again. It was Susie this time, her feet brisk and feather-light on the old wooden steps. She approached him with a plate and a glass of water. Steve eyed the glass, only now realising how parched his throat was.

“I’m going to unlock one of your cuffs and leave this here,” she told him. “Don’t try anything stupid. John’s just at the top of the stairs.”

“Fine,” Steve said.

She carefully placed the plate of sandwiches down on the table beside his bed, and took a small key out from her pocket. Steve eyed it keenly, a few wild, half-baked plans running through his head. But even if he did make a lunge for her, it would be clumsy and useless at best, and he’d just end up drugged again. Susie seemed unthreatened by him at any rate. He wondered what she thought of the family she’d married into. All Steve knew about her was that she didn’t like _him_.

“I guess you’re used to this?” he prodded, making her pause. “From tying up your daughter?”

He heard her teeth grind together. “You wouldn’t understand,” she said curtly.

He snorted. “I think I’ve got some idea.”

“You want to be fed, or not?” she demanded.

Steve sighed and shut up. Apparently satisfied with that, she leaned over to unlock the cuff closest to the wall. As she placed her hand on his wrist, Steve had the strangest sensation. It began as a faint tingling beneath his skin, then a low buzz in his head. Suddenly, a series of images flashed before his eyes.

_“I’m sorry, Mommy, I’m sorry!” seven-year-old Emma wailed, clinging to her mother’s waist. There was broken crockery all over the kitchen floor, and Susie was nursing a large cut on her palm. The blood dripped onto Emma’s hair. “I didn’t mean to! Don’t make me go downstairs!”_

_John wrenched her away and her screaming increased._

_“John, come on,” Susie said faintly. Her hand throbbed and she felt tired, so tired. “It’s not that bad, just let it go.”_

_“We talked about this, Suze. Consistency is key. If we let her get away with it, it’ll just make it worse.”_

_“You’re making her more upset, that’s what makes it worse!”_

_“Susie, I know what I’m talking about. Just sit tight and take care of that cut, alright? I’ll be back up soon.”_

_“Mommy!” Emma cried as she was dragged to the basement. The mug fell off the bench and shattered. Susie put her head in her uninjured hand and tried not to cry._

Steve flinched back, his head aching once again. His left hand was now free but he made no move to sit up, instead trying to pull as far away from the woman as he could. “What the fuck was that?” he croaked.

Susie frowned at him. “What?”

“You … you didn’t see that? The memory, with Emma, and, and the broken dishes?”

Susie went pale. “Stay out of my head,” she hissed, and very nearly ran out of the basement. The door slammed shut behind her, making him wince.

Slowly, Steve he eased himself into a sitting position with his newfound scrap of freedom. The dizziness made his stomach roll and he had to hunch over for a moment, breathing heavily. As soon as he was able, he reached over and grabbed the glass of water. It was gone all too quickly, and somehow, he doubted Susie would be coming back any time son for a refill.

Steve had never thought too hard about what it might be like for Theo, with her ‘sensitivity’. Probably because he’d spent most of their lives thinking it wasn’t real. But Christ, if that was what she felt all the time – the cacophony of sound, sight and deep, roiling _emotion_ – well, no wonder she was so closed off. It was amazing she managed to live a halfway normal life.

Steve strongly doubted in his ability to do the same.

 _“My special boy,”_   he heard his mother whisper from the shadows.

Steve lay back down on the bed and curled up on his side, his hands shaking.

_

Before too long, the drugs seemed to have worn off completely. He still felt dizzy and disorientated, but that was probably more from a lack of food and sleep, not to mention all the ghosts and visions cluttering up his brain. After that first, terrifying moment when he’d been thrust unwillingly into Susie’s memories, it soon became clear that this basement held a lot of memories, too. Now when he touched the pillow, he caught glimpses of Emma crying herself to sleep. He felt her fear, helplessness and self-loathing, and saw phantom bloodstains on the white sheets.

Lying on the bed soon became unbearable, so he sat on the floor instead, his wrist still anchored to the railing. He pulled his knees up and rested his free arm across them, pushing his head into the crook of his elbow. The room felt ten times colder now.

When the door opened again, he recognised the sound of Alanna’s footsteps. He tensed up, hoping she didn’t try to touch him. But she stopped a few feet away and smiled placidly.

“We were just about to have dinner. Would you like to join us?”

He blinked, uncomprehending. “Upstairs?”

“Of course. Do you think you can manage to avoid any accidents?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“Ah, well. Would you like a small dose of medication, just to make sure?”

Steve hesitated. On the one hand, he couldn’t stomach the thought of being vulnerable around these people. However, if it meant getting out of this room, with its shadows and its vicious memories, he would do just about anything. Everything was happening too quickly, and it was all too much. Part of him could see the bleak humour in this, that he finally had to deal with all the same bullshit his siblings had been putting up with their whole lives. But he wasn't strong like them. He just wanted it all to  _stop_ _._ Taking a deep breath, he said to Alanna, “Okay.”


	12. Cycles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long break guys! I've been travelling so it makes updates a bit harder but I appreciate your support as always :)

They pulled over twice on the way back to town so Theo could throw up. Luke took over the driving. Their experience in the lake house had left him feeling shaken, but Theo seemed more affected. He supposed it was because of her sensitivity. He knew better than to ask her about it, though, or even attempt conversation for almost an hour. She curled away from him on the passenger side, leaning her head against the window with her eyes closed, two fingers pressed firmly against her forehead.

“Stop that,” she eventually said, her voice flat.

“What?”

“Looking at me every ten seconds,” she said.

Luke hadn’t even realised he’d been doing it. “Sorry. You gonna be sick again?”

She cracked her eyes open. Luke realised they were wet and hurriedly directed his gaze back to the road. “Probably not.”

“You … okay?”

“Nope.” She sighed. “I need a drink.”

Luke pulled up to the nearest bar he could find without complaint. It was kind of loud inside despite being mid-afternoon, with a few groups of people talking and laughing, and some music playing. There was a football game playing on the television by the bar. The noise set Luke’s teeth on edge, but Theo didn’t seem to mind. She ordered a whiskey and then folded herself into a booth near the back. Luke managed to get himself a coke and follow along after her.

They drank their respective beverages in silence for a while, and Luke watched some of the tension seep out of her shoulders. His thoughts drifted to Steve, wherever he fuck he was. He wondered if he’d seen the same thing they had. Maybe he was holed up in some bar too, drinking his trauma under the table, and that was why he hadn’t been answering any of their calls. Maybe the only danger he was in was death from alcohol poisoning.

He’d never known his big brother to be a drinker, but Steve had always been good at hiding his coping mechanisms. Or disguising them as rationality.

Eventually, Theo sighed and leaned back. “I wish I could drink more.”

“Would it help?”

“Not really, no.” She shook her head. “I’ve seen all sorts of shit, Luke. Worse than that, even. Some of the kids I treat, they’ve been through … _everything._ I don’t know why _that_ felt like such a special kind of train wreck.”

He half-shrugged. “Maybe ‘cause it’s family? Genetic connection or something.?”

“Christ, maybe. At least it makes our parents look like fucking saints.”

“Yeah. I wonder if that’s why we were never … like, _that_ weird. I know you always had your thing, and me and Nell … but we’re twins; I thought that was just normal. And everything else, it never really got weird until Hill House.”

“Intense emotional dysregulation is obviously a trigger,” she said, with clinical sarcasm. “No shortage of that in Hill House. Before that, though, we were fine. Somehow. It’s a wonder Grandma Mary raised mom half-decent, with what she had to go through as a kid.”

“Guess she wanted to stop the cycle,” Luke suggested.

Theo shuddered. “I’d hate to see how we’d have turned out if she didn’t.”

They fell into another contemplative silence, pondering all the might-have-beens of their life. Luke had already spent years thinking about those; what if mom had lived, what if he hadn’t fell in with the wrong crowd in school, what if he’d been there for Nell before she died, what if, what if, what if … it just went on forever. Now there were whole new dimensions and generations to consider, and it turned out that the fucked-up-ness went back a lot further than him, his parents and his siblings. Luke didn’t know if that was a comforting thought yet or not.

Before he could ruminate for long, his phone started buzzing. He glanced at it wearily, expecting Shirl. Then the caller ID hit him like a brick, and he nearly knocked his coke off the table as he fumbled to answer. “ _Steve?!”_

There was a slight pause on the other end, during which Theo choked on her drink and Luke’s heart pounded heavily in his ears. Then, finally, Steve replied,        “… _Hello to you, too.”_

“Holy shit, Steve. Are … are you okay?”

“ _I’m fine,”_ Steve said, sounding slightly baffled. “ _Why?”_

Luke slumped forward over the table, not sure whether he wanted to cry with relief or scream obscenities at his brother. “We’ve been out of our fucking minds with worry, man,” he said.

“ _Yeah, I could tell from the nineteen missed calls. Sorry, I was staying with someone and my phone went dead. But it’s only been a day or so, was it really necessary?”_

Luke rubbed his eyes, avoiding Theo’s furiously demanding look. “Shirl had like, a dream or something. She thought you were in danger. And Nell said ...”

 _“Oh,_ Nell _said?”_ Steve said, in that condescending tone that never failed to make Luke want to punch something. He grit his teeth and forced himself not to snap.

“Look, forget about it. Just tell us where you are, me and Theo will come get you.”

_“You and Theo?”_

“Yeah, we’re in Maine.”

“ _You’re_ what?!”

“We drove up here last night. Didn’t want to waste any time.”

There was another pause. Luke could almost hear Steve taking his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose. “ _That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”_

Despite his dry words, he had a bit of a slur. Luke frowned. “Are you drunk or something?”

_“What? No, I just had a couple glasses of wine.”_

Before Luke could respond, Theo had finally had enough, and snatched the phone away. “What the actual, flying fuck, Steven?” she said loudly. A couple of the bar patrons turned around in alarm. Luke put his face in his hands, leaving her to argue with him. Now that he’d actually spoken to Steve, all their panic did sound a bit ridiculous. He felt Nell brush against his mind, an admonishment or perhaps a warning, but he was too embarrassed and annoyed to pay her much mind. Besides, she wasn’t exactly a reliable source of information. For all he knew, she was stuck in a flashback from thirty years ago, thinking they were all helpless kids again.

“Don’t you call me melodramatic!” Theo was saying. “It’s not just us, okay? Leigh’s freaking out too.” She paused. “Well maybe you should fucking call her! She’s your wife for Christ’s sake, not that you’re acting like it.” Another pause, and Luke watched as she positively bristled with rage. “Don’t go there, Steven, I swear to God.”

Luke hurriedly reappropriated his phone before she threw it into a wall. “Steve,” he said. “Look, maybe we overreacted. Can you blame us, after everything that’s happened?”

He heard his brother sigh. “ _I guess not. Sorry for making you worry. Truly.”_

“It’s fine,” he said, even though it wasn’t. “Look, are you coming home soon?”

“… _To LA? Or Boston?”_

“Boston,” Luke said, ignoring Theo’s muttered threat that she’d kill Steve as soon as she laid eyes on him. “Shirl will want to see you. And we can talk. About what we’ve found out.”

“ _What do you mean?”_

“We went to the lake house,” he said. “The one you were looking into. Saw some weird shit.”

Steve made some kind of noise on the other end. It was only quiet, a hitch of breath, or maybe a hiccup, for all Luke knew. But it made him frown all the same, because something about this whole situation just did not sit right with him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

 _“I’m fine,”_ Steve insisted quickly. _“But I need to go, I’m about to have dinner with these people.”_

“The Quells?” Luke asked. “You found them?”

“ _I’ll call you later, okay? Just go home and I’ll see you back in Boston.”_

“But –” Luke found himself cut off as the line went dead. He stared at it for a moment, torn between feeling pissed off and deeply concerned. Suddenly, Nell’s faint warning in his head didn’t feel like an overreaction. But it was ridiculous; Steve was fine. He said so. Right?

“Well?” Theo said.

“He said to go home,” Luke said, still frowning at his phone.

“That son of a bitch,” she seethed.

“We have the same mom,” he reminded her.

“I don’t care! After everything that’s happened, and now he’s just decided it’s perfectly fine not to answer his phone and be a total _ass_ just ‘cause we made the mistake of caring … I mean _fuck_. Fuck him. I need another drink.” She shoved herself off the chair and stalked back over to the bar.

Luke slumped back in his seat, feeling lost. “Guess we’re going home without him,” he muttered to the side.

Nell shook her head, drawing patterns in the condensation left from Theo’s drink. “He still needs you,” she said. “More than he knows.”

“I don’t know to help him,” Luke confessed. “Never thought I _had_ to.”

She gave him a tiny smile. “First step,” she advised. “Ignore everything he just said. And go find him.”

_

Steve had sat through a lot of awkward dinners in his lifetime. Nell’s wedding reception, with Shirley a tight ball of rage sitting beside him, came readily to mind. Still, sitting in the Quells’ open-plan dining area, picking his way through roast pork that Alanna made, after spending the night handcuffed in their basement, really took the cake.

Susie was silent and sullen, and didn’t seem to know who to glare at more – himself, her husband, or her mother-in-law. Emma was doing a poor job of pretending that she wasn’t staring at him over the top of her phone screen. John was bravely attempting to make polite conversation, but between Susie’s blatant resentment, Emma’s teenage disinterest, and Steve’s fuzzy, drugged-up brain, his comments fell flat. Only Alanna seemed genuinely at ease, smiling pleasantly at all of them with the air of someone who had accomplished many small yet satisfactory tasks that day. Dishes. Gardening. Cooking. Kidnapping distant relatives. All in day’s work for this family matriarch.

“Are you not hungry, Steven?” she asked him with motherly concern. “You’re not eating.”

In truth, Steve was starving, but the call with Luke and Theo was still stuck in his throat, making him feel like he might throw up at any moment. He’d spent hours the previous night wishing desperately that he could speak to his siblings, call them, ask them for help or advice. Tell them he was sorry. But as soon as John had given him his phone back and he’d responded to one of Luke’s many missed calls, habit had taken over. He’d scoffed at their concern, told them he was fine, because he was _always_ fine. Then Luke had told him he and Theo were in Maine, and fear had shot down his spine. They couldn’t be here. They couldn’t see him like this, so ragged and pathetic, drugged to the gills just so he could get from minute to minute. It would be too much like Mom, and they didn’t deserve that. So he told them to go home. He’d follow them when he was well again.

(Part of him also remembered the thinly veiled threat from John the previous night, mentioning his siblings and all their strange quirks. Steve now realised that he needed to be kept somewhere safe, so that he didn’t hurt anyone. That was reasonable. But they didn’t need that. They needed to stay away.)

These thoughts raced through his head, murky and chaotic, but he managed a tight smile for Alanna. “Just tired.”

“Of course. Just eat what you can, dear. We’ll put the rest in the fridge.”

“We’re a big fan of leftovers in this house,” John joked. No one pretended to laugh. Steve was quite relieved to be drugged at this point, because the critical awkwardness seemed like an external issue rather than one that he was the direct cause of.

Abruptly, Emma let her fork clatter on the plate like a challenger throwing down the gauntlet. “Are we gonna discuss the elephant in the room or what?” she demanded. “How long’s he gonna be here for?”

Alanna smiled placidly. “For as long as he wants to.”

Emma then turned her glare on him. “Well?”

Steve made a helpless shrugging motion. She was sitting directly across from him. He wondered if she’d seen him glance at the hallway, towards the front door, ignoring every urge he had to get up and run. He wondered if she’d felt the same compulsion to slink back down to the basement and curl up on that hated bed. Steve didn’t understand why he felt this way. He was just confused.

His phone buzzed, saving him the chance to answer. Glancing at it, he saw Leigh’s name came up. His heart sank through the wooden floorboards.

“Everything alright?” Alanna asked, watching him as he watched the call ring out.

“My wife,” he said, his throat dry. “She’s just been trying to call.”

“Then you should call her back,” Alanna said.

Steve glanced at her, unable to help the wary look on his face. He’d been suspicious when they’d let him call Luke back. Did they truly feel that they’d done nothing wrong by keeping him here, so much so that they would risk him calling the police? Or were they banking on him feeling so confused and destroyed that he wouldn’t dare? “I’ll call her back later,” he tried to say.

“Steve,” Alanna said. “I can’t tell you what to do, but here’s my advice; make your peace with her now. You’ll only regret it if you don’t, and so will she.”

In his peripheral, he saw Susie grip her knife in her fist. He felt all the bitterness of her life radiating off of her, and maybe it was his new ‘ability’, but really, it just looked like plain common sense. What did this kind of life do to a person? A relationship? A future? Suddenly, he knew what he needed to do. Steve pushed himself clumsily away from the table. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’ll just be …” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

John grinned bracingly. “Good luck!”

He went into the hallway and sat on the stairwell. With shaking hands, he held the phone up and pressed the redial button. She answered immediately.

“ _Steve?”_

His throat seized up at the sound of her voice, so wrought with worry and hope. “Leigh. Hey.”

She let out a huge breath of air. “ _Jesus, Steve. I was so fucking scared.”_

“I’m sorry I missed your calls,” he began, and launched into the same excuses he gave Luke and Theo. She stayed silent, causing him to ramble further. He finished with another lame apology. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was going to Maine, too,” he said. “There was no reason, I guess, I just didn’t want you to worry …”

“ _Steve,”_ she said firmly, cutting him off, and he thought _this is it_ , this was his last second chance. He gripped his knee, his blunt nails digging in through the denim. “ _Steve,”_ she said again, so softly it made him ache. “ _Just come home. I don’t care, okay? I just want you home safe. Or go to your sister, and I’ll meet you there. Everything else, it doesn’t matter.”_

Steve felt tears well in his eyes. He ground the heel of his palm into his face, willing himself to keep control. “I can’t,” he choked up.

_“Why not?”_

“Because …” _I’m dangerous. I’m insane. I don’t deserve you._ “Because I need a break. Time to think about things.”

_“What things? What are you saying?”_

“I …” He held the receiver away and smacked his fist into the side of his head, desperately trying to keep it together. “I don’t want kids. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I can’t. I can’t hold you back anymore.”

Her silence was shocked and damning. _“Steve …”_

“I have to go. I … I’ll talk you soon.” _I love you_. “Please just give us some time.”

“ _Steve!”_ she said again, her voice cracking like a whip.

“I’m sorry _,_ ” he said again, and hung up before things could devolve any further. He then let the phone drop from his hands and buried his face in his knees, his breathing harsh and deep. He couldn’t fall apart here. It was not a safe space, but then, nowhere was safe anymore.

After what felt like an eternity, Steve raised his head and scrubbed his hands over his face. His mother was standing at the end of the hallway in front of the door, looking at him sadly. He thought again about running. Then she extended her hand towards him and he lurched to his feet, stumbling back towards the kitchen. He didn’t know what would come next, or how long he would have to stay in this fucking house with these people, but it seemed that there was no place for him out there, and he couldn’t risk leaving. Not yet. Not until he knew what he was dealing with.

Whatever happened, he would not be a part of this vicious cycle any longer. One way or another, all the fear and pain and ghosts would stop with him.


	13. Embers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone - here's another overdue chapter. Still travelling, so still slow on the updates! But many thanks for your lovely comments and kudos as always :)

Shirley worked supremely well under a crisis. It was one of the things she’d carefully cultivated about herself and took great pride in, even though there were times when she really shouldn’t. Embalming her dead little sister’s body was a good example. Her work had not suffered through her sister’s death, so there was absolutely no reason why it should suffer as a result of her brother’s (temporary, probably-not-legit) disappearance.

Thus, Shirley managed quite well while Luke and Theo were off in Maine, getting through two funerals very smoothly. If she surreptitiously checked her phone once or twice or five times, well, she was a master of doing it without anyone noticing.

Anyone, that is, except Kevin. As soon as Mr Hanson’s service over and the family was milling about, he glided over to her with an overly patient look on his face. “Hon,” he said.

“Not now,” she cut him off. “We’re still working.”

“I can finish up. You should call them.”

“I haven’t heard anything, so there’s no point,” she argued.

“They might want to hear from you anyway.”

Shirley made a face. She couldn’t imagine either Theo or Luke ever appreciating her attempts to micromanage them. “If there was anything worth calling about, they would have called,” she said.

“Do it anyway,” he advised. “I’ll manage here. Besides, I’m worried, too.”

She huffed. “Fine, just to get you to stop talking about it.”

She decided to ignore the knowing, slightly smug look on his face. Kevin has always been very proud of his ability to talk his stubborn wife around, even if he only managed it maybe thirty percent of the time. Shirley excused herself as gracelessly as she could and went into the office. The kids were having dinner with Kevin’s mom that evening, so there was no one left to distract her in the quiet room. Shirley looked at her phone for a while, deliberating.

What she _really_ wanted was to dial Steve’s number for the millionth time. It was a pointless and yet irresistible urge, like prodding at a sore tooth with her tongue to see if it still hurt. She didn’t know what she’d do if he actually answered. Yell at him, probably.

Instead, Shirley forced herself to call Theo. Her sister waited an annoyingly long time to pick up, and there was deep resignation in her voice as she answered. _“Hey, Shirl.”_

“Hey. I hadn’t heard anything for a while so I thought I’d check in.” She tried not to make it sound like an accusation, but her sister sighed anyway.

_“Yeah, I knew you were working all afternoon.”_

“Just finished.” She frowned at the high level of background noise over the line. “Where are you right now?”

“ _A bar,”_ Theo said bluntly.

“What? What the hell, Theo?” she demanded. “Is Luke with you?”

“ _Yeah.”_

“Is _Steve?”_

_“No.”_

Shirley closed her eyes. “I can’t believe you! You’re supposed to be looking for our missing brother, and instead you’re getting drunk in some dive?”

 _“Oh, if you knew the kind of day we’ve had –”_ Theo began angrily, then cut herself off with a sigh. “ _He called, anyway. Said he was fine, that this was all a big misunderstanding, and by the way, we’re all a bunch of stupid drama queens for worrying in the first place.”_

Shirley frowned as that news sank in. She expected to feel bone-deep relief, along with a heaping of anger and exasperation. But the ball of dread in her chest, which she had been trying to ignore ever since waking up from a nightmare she couldn’t remember, had not diminished. If anything, it grew bigger. Shirley had made a good life out of ignoring her instincts, but right now she knew that wasn’t an option. “Did he say where he was?”

“ _No, he made some excuse. Luke thinks he’s hiding something, but now he’s gone back to ignoring our calls, so I don’t know how we’re supposed to track him down.”_

“Is he with those relatives he was trying find?”

“ _I think so, but we can’t get an address.”_

Shirley was already running through a list of names in her head, mostly members of her kids’ school PTA. At least three of the parents on the list could qualify as certified stalkers through social media savvy alone. They justified it on the basis of having teenage children and unreliable spouses, but Shirley had always thought it was actually kind of creepy. Until right this second, where she was going to be a giant hypocrite and exploit every connection she had to resolve this.

“Leave it with me,” she said. “Don’t go anywhere, and don’t get too drunk in the meantime.”

 _“O-kay,”_ Theo said dubiously. There was a beat, and she then said, “ _Um, Shirl.”_

“What?” Shirley was already impatient to track down her fucking walnut of an older brother, but the tone of Theo’s voice pulled her up. It sounded more vulnerable than she was used to from Theo. “What is it? Did something else happen?”

Her sister let out a breath. _“It’s nothing. We can talk about it later. Just … don’t worry too hard. About Ally, or Jay, or any of us. I know you do, but actually, you do a good job. I could have been so much worse. I never realised how bad it could have been.”_

“Um, okay? I mean, I know that.” She frowned as Theo made what sounded suspiciously like a sniffling noise. “Are you okay?”

“ _Yeah, fine. Forget it. Call us back when you have something.”_

She hung up quickly, leaving Shirley feel, if possible, even _more_ worried than before. She allowed herself a moment to put her head in her hands and sigh. Then, she got to work.

_

By the time dinner was over, Steve was numb. It could have been the drugs, the cumulative effect of no sleep for the past couple of days, or the fact that he’d just torpedoed his marriage for the second time; either way, he didn’t care. He was apathetic to just about everything, even as Jonathan manhandled him gently into the lounge and pushed a glass of something alcoholic into his hands. He’d lit the fire earlier, making the room pleasantly warm. It was a free-standing one, the kind Leigh would have liked to get if they didn’t live in Los Angeles. Under any other circumstances, Steve could have fallen asleep right there.

Emma and Alanna had both gone off to their rooms, which left John and Susie to the dishes. Steve could hear them arguing as they worked, the splashing water and clanging of plates and cutlery not quite covering up their voices.

“Why is he still here?” Susie hissed. “Haven’t we got enough to worry about?”

“He needs our help, Suze.”

“He could get us into real trouble!”

“He won’t do that.”

“And what about Emma? She’s already having relapses, this is only going to make it worse.”

“She’ll be fine. He’s family, too.”

“Like that makes it any better!”

They went quiet for a moment. Eventually, John said, “Mom thinks he’s meant to be here.”

Susie scoffed. “Your mother isn’t God, John, no matter how much you fucking worship her.”

Steve tuned the rest of their conversation out and took a sip of his drink. He still had no idea what it was, but it burned a little going down, and that felt good. On one of the corner tables, his eyes caught on an old Bible. It was well-read, the spine cracked and the edges frayed. He stared at it for a moment, curiosity warring with fear, before finally reaching over and running his finger over the front of it.

Nothing happened. No second-hand emotion, no echoes of old memories. Steve found himself both relieved and annoyed; whatever this thing was, consistency was not its strong suit.

“Steve?” John asked. “You alright there?”

Steve dropped his hand back into his lap and made a noise of vague assent.

The man refilled his glass without asking, and then sat down opposite him. He was tenser than usual, probably from the argument with his wife. Steve watched him take a long sip of his own drink, before giving him a weak smile. “You must be tired, huh?”

Steve gave him a flat look. “You gonna put me back downstairs?”

“Oh, no. I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Susie’s making up the guest bedroom.”

Steve quirked an eyebrow. “How hospitable.”

“Unless you want to go back downstairs?” John said, and for the life of him, Steve couldn’t figure out if the man meant it as a genuine question or a threat. Regardless, he couldn’t supress a chill down his spine at the thought of being trapped back down there again, stewing in someone else’s childhood trauma and his own insecurities. He shook his head silently.

“Good, good. I think that’s for the best. You’re already on the right track with getting this stuff under control.”

Steve didn’t think he’d ever be in control of anything again. “How’d you figure that?”

“Well, seeing the truth and knowing what you’re in for is always the hardest step.”

“So, what comes next?” Steve demanded. “Pain and drugs, is that it?”

“And faith,” John said firmly. “That’s the most important part.”

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Guess I’m fucked, then.”

John shrugged. “These things just take time, is all. Soon enough, you’ll find yourself desperate for a higher answer as to why all this goes on. You’ll wonder what you did to deserve all this, and you’ll pray to God to give you the strength to be better. When that day comes, He’ll be there for you. I know He will.”

Steve had nothing to say to that, so they fell into a contemplative silence, listening to the fire crackle. After a while, John frowned thoughtfully and said, “I guess it also helps to know what sets it off, too. For me, it was always feeling frustrated or … disappointing my parents. Emma used to get it bad when we told her off for doing the wrong thing. We’re all a bit different.”

Well, it least that made some kind of sense. Steve’s shit had manifested when he’d walked into Emma’s room and seen her self-harming, just like his mom had obviously been triggered by the evil inside Hill House, even though that felt like a pretty steep comparison.

The thought of Emma made him feel a spark of anger amidst the apathy. “Your daughter deserves better, you know.”

John frowned. “What do you mean?”

Steve forced himself to speak rationally. “Punitive tactics have never helped to improve behaviour that is outside a person’s control.”

“What do you mean ‘punitive’?”

“I mean, for example, tying her to the bed and drugging her,” he snapped.

He saw John’s fingers tighten around his glass, his knuckles going white. “That’s only been a few times. When things were really bad and nothing else worked, _that_ worked.”

“It would only make it worse.”

“Know that for a fact, huh?”

“Yes,” Steve said bluntly. “Fear and pain just exacerbates a problem. It’s a well-researched topic, actually. And my experience has taught me…”

“Your experience?” John demanded, looking annoyed for perhaps the first time since Steve had met him. “As a parent, you mean? Or as someone who told yourself for years that _mental illness_ was the reason your family was broken? Look, I get that you’re usually the smartest person in the room, but when it comes to this kind of thing, you haven’t got a damn clue. It’s not in any science books, and not a single person outside this family will take it seriously. We’re on our own, here, just finding our way through the dark day by day.”

Steve shifted his back away from the sofa; the room was starting to feel too hot. “I just don’t see that treating a child like that and letting her _cut_ herself would do anything but fuck her up.”

John slammed his glass own on the coffee table. Steve flinched, not expecting the anger. “Like I said,” he told Steve. “We’re in the dark here. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s my family, and my children.”

Steve managed to laugh. “You sure about that?” he taunted, watching John’s eyes grow darker. It felt good to see the man get angry, after having to watch him live a completely insane life with a constant smile on his face. Maybe this was the real reason he didn’t want to leave. Maybe he just couldn’t stand to walk away from this madness while she was still here.

“You don’t even know what it’s like to be a parent!” John said loudly. “And you never will. Yeah, I heard you talking to your wife, before. Telling her you don’t want kids, when you know it’s just because you’re scared shitless. I bet she knows, too.”

The words stung, on some level that was too raw to acknowledge right now, but Steve didn’t care. His ears were ringing and there was a hot, tight pressure underneath his skin, and he wanted a fight so badly. “Maybe you should have been a little more scared before you had them.”

“I’m not afraid of my child!”

“Well she’s afraid of you!”

The fireplace gate burst open and flames billowed out of it. Both men jumped to their feet in shock and staggered back. It spat out a second, second jet of fire, and a couple of embers showered across the clean white carpet. More flames licked out of it, once, twice, and then it settled back down. John and Steve stared at it for a moment, then at each other, breathing heavily.

“Must have been a draft,” John said weakly.

Then the fire alarm came on.

“Boys!” Alanna said, stomping into the room in her dressing gown. Susie followed closely behind, looking at her living room in slack horror. The family matriarch planted her hands on her hips. “That is enough! Look what you did!”

“I didn’t … it wasn’t me,” Steve said, almost convinced that he was right.

Alanna narrowed her eyes at her son. “No, I don’t believe it was.”

John closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, looking deeply ashamed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I knew this would happen,” Susie whispered.

He looked up, pain written across his face. “Suze …”

“I knew it!” She fled the room, one hand clapped over her face to conceal the tears. Steve heard her storm down the hallway and snap at Emma, telling her to go back to bed.

Meanwhile, John still looked on the verge of tears himself and Steve found himself unable to function with the alarm ringing in his ears, so Alanna tutted and stood on the sofa to switch it off herself. She then ensured the fire had returned to a dull glow before carefully closing the door, and turned to fix both of them with a stern look. “Now. Do you feel pleased with yourselves?”

John looked like a kicked puppy. Steve found himself hating the man even more. “Sorry, Mom,” he said. “We were just having a bit of an argument and I suppose it got out of hand.”

“You should know better,” she said. “But it _has_ been a long day. How about we go to bed and start fresh in the morning?”

Steve didn’t want to go to bed, even if his body was craving unconsciousness. He wanted to continue the fight, tell John how obviously _wrong_ he was about controlling the curse, or whatever he wanted to call it; this just proved it. He wanted to demand answers on his own behalf, and Emma’s. He wanted to yell at Alanna Crain, the calm, motherly puppet-master of all this damage. He wanted to run away.

She turned to look him in the eye, and Steve slowly felt the adrenaline seep out of him. It was like a thick blanket being draped over his mind, making everything dark and muffled. He made a noise of confusion and clutched his head.

“That’s it,” she said soothingly. “It’s time we all went to bed. Tomorrow is a new day, and it will be like none of this happened at all.”

 _Fucking hypocrite,_ he thought, with a touch of humour in spite of it all. The next thing Steve knew, he was being ushered out of the room, down the hall, and up the stairs. The walls stretched out before him, long and shadowed. Finally, he reached a room and collapsed into the single bed, his head swimming. He turned to see Alanna’s silhouette in the doorway, whispering goodnight to him. She looked exactly like his mother.

He fought to stay awake, but the shadows grew longer, until his head was shrouded in darkness. His last thought was: this might not be the basement, but he was still trapped nonetheless.

_

Emma waited until her parents and grandmother were sound asleep before opening her bedroom door, a familiar toy tucked under her arm. She crept across the floor, avoiding each creaking floorboard through years of practice. A faint smell of smoke still drifted up from downstairs. She wrinkled her nose and forced herself not to cough.

The guest bedroom door always creaked, so here, she had to be careful. With aching slowness, she pressed down on the handle and pushed it open; it whined quietly, like a mosquito, but she didn’t think anyone heard.

Waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark room, Emma saw that the man … uncle … cousin … idiot … what _ever_ … was lying face-down on the bed, his face turned towards the wall. He twitched faintly in his sleep, looking anything but well-rested. She closed the door behind her, letting it rest against the frame without clicking shut, and took a step forward.

Suddenly, she saw something that made her stop short. There was a shadowed figure standing over the bed. It was vaguely woman-shaped, but its eyes glowed faintly white as they raised to look at her. Emma felt frozen to the spot, her breaths coming short and shallow. She thought the figure may have smiled.

Steeling herself, and clutching the stuffed toy to her chest, Emma took another step.

In the blink of an eye, the figure vanished. Emma exhaled slowly. She didn’t see many ghosts. The only one she could really call corporeal had been when Grandma had taken her to her old house by the lake. Other times, it was usually just a feeling or a chill in the air. Nothing like  _that._ Poor Stevie boy was really haunted.

Quickly, she crossed the room and stood beside his bed, just like the ghost had done. She studied to old toy in her hand for a minute. It was a giraffe, colourless and frayed around the edges from too much cuddling. Its ears were filled with something crinkly, and there used to be a small razor tucked into the inseam of its belly, but she’d removed it, causing a tuft of stuffing to poke out instead. Old Splotch had been her closest companion when she was little, during the times when she’d felt like a ghost herself; a formless mass of helpless rage and hurt, and her mother had been too sad to hold her and her dad’s arms had been too painful. Old Splotch could keep away any demon; she would know.

With a feigned air of importance, as though she were knighting a noble hero, Emma placed the giraffe on Steve’s bed, his little legs grazing against his wrist. It was stupid, she knew. But her life was fucking stupid and so was his, so, whatever. He needed it more than her, anyway.

Feeling grimly satisfied with herself, Emma turned and went back to her own room.


	14. Gifts

They ended up getting a motel room for the night. Theo had considered getting two, but it seemed redundant and she didn’t particularly want Luke left alone right now. He’d started muttering again since they’d left the bar, barely paying her any attention in favour of talking to Nell or whatever. Theo would be fine with that – having Luke look at her all worried and sad had been getting uncomfortable – but she _did_ have concerns about the angry, stubborn look on his face. Knowing him, he’d try and track down Steve all by himself in the middle of the night, and probably light something on fire while he was at it.

Theo didn’t want to commit arson. Not until she’d met these people herself, anyway.

So she got a twin room, and resigned herself to a sleepless night despite being exhausted. While Luke was in the bathroom, she went outside to the neon-lit parking lot and worked up the courage to call Trish. Part of her was desperate to hear her voice, whereas the bigger, older part of her didn’t want to fall apart. _You’re just checking in,_ she told herself. _She'll worry if she doesn’t get an update._

Making it more about Trish’s needs than her own was a useful strategy. Theo called her.

“ _Baby?”_ Trish’s voice said sleepily.

Suddenly, Theo felt an overwhelming urge to cry for no fucking reason at all. “Hey. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you.”

_“Oh my God, are you okay?”_

“Sure,” she managed, about three octaves higher than usual.

 _“Do you want me to come up?”_ Trish offered immediately.

Theo laughed wetly. “No, you moron. I’m fine. We’re fine. It’s just … been a day, that’s all.”

“ _Tell me about it.”_

So, Theo found herself disclosing their encounter at the lake house. As he she spoke, she was more than aware of how insane it all sounded, especially when she tried to describe all the _feelings_ that had come with it. The thing about her ability was that it never translated terribly well to normal human perceptions of the world; part of the reason Theo had closed herself off from discussing it with people was purely because she had no idea how to. But Trish seemed quite content to listen to her stilted, nonsensical account of the day.

At some point, she stopped to take a breath. There was more she could have said, but now that she’d lost her momentum, Theo didn’t want to keep going. Thus, she went silent, except for the odd sniffle here and there. Trish also stayed quiet, probably stuck dumb by the story. Eventually, she said, _“Are you_ sure _you don’t want me to come up?”_

Theo sighed. “There’s no point. We’ll be home as soon as Shirl gets this address and we can find Steve and drag him back with us. Probably tomorrow.”

_“Please let me know if that changes.”_

“I will.”

There was another pause. “ _It all sounds so horrifying. I’m sorry you had to go through it.”_

“But I didn’t go through it. Some other kid did, years before I was born.”

_“Sure, but it’s like your work, isn’t it? Bearing witness to abuse takes a toll, and it’s okay to feel sad and awful about it.”_

“Now you just sound like me,” Theo grumbled. She’d never been particularly good at taking her own professional advice.

_“I’ll take that as a compliment.”_

“Oh, shove it,” she replied fondly. She thought for a moment while Trish laughed at her, distracted by one of the things that had been bothering her about the lake house. “You know, it’s weird,” she said, causing Trish to go quiet again. “I’ve seen people’s memories before, and I’ve seen ghosts before. Just a couple of times. This was definitely a memory, I think.”

_“What’s the difference?”_

Again, Theo was struggling to fit all this into plain spoken English. Nonetheless, she felt the urge to explain it. It was weird to have that urge. “I suppose memories are like a film or something. They’re something that happened and you can’t change it or even interact with it, even though, for a second, it feels like you’re there. Ghosts, um. Well, it’s hard because I think most of them don’t really change either.”

 _“Marie told me that, once,”_ Trish said. _“She said they’re like a recurring moment in time, but they have a kind of presence and consciousness. It’s possible for them to break out of whatever cycle they got caught up in after death, although they often return to it again.”_

“Uh, yeah. Something like that.” Theo sighed and leaned against the motel wall, just in front of and Luke’s room. “Anyway, with these guys, it was like watching a play instead of a film. A really invasive, creepy, audience-participation play. I felt like any of them might suddenly turn around and start talking to me.”

_“Sounds scary.”_

“It was. I mean, before that, I thought I knew what I was doing. I had a handle on the house, what we were looking for, all that. It was …” _Almost fun_ , she thought, but really didn’t want to say. “I felt fine. So did Luke, I think. Then that happened and I realised, once again, I’ve got no fucking clue.”

Trish made an empathetic noise. “ _If it makes you feel any better, I feel that way about most interactions with living people.”_

“Hah. Yeah, me too. I just don’t usually give a fuck.”

There was a noise from inside their motel room. Theo immediately spun around and tried to peer in their window, past the dirty glass and half-closed shutters. Just vaguely, she could make out Luke lumbering around, silhouetted by the bathroom light.

_“Theo? You okay?”_

“Yeah, fine. Just a little jumpy.”

_“You should get some sleep.”_

Theo didn’t like her chances. “I guess so.”

_“Call me again if you need to, okay?”_

Once upon a time, Theo would agreed without any intention of ever following through. But with Trish, she was almost looking forward to it. “Okay.”

_

Shirley had always believed that, if you want something done right, you should do it yourself. If that made her a control freak, so be it. As soon as one of the Stalker Mom Coalition got back to her with an address (though not before Shirley had to promise to attend a brunch next weekend), she decided it would be much better to deliver the information to her siblings in person.

Still, it was a strange sort of reluctance as she looked in on Jayden and Ally, fast asleep, as they well should be at 5:00 am. She had her car keys in hand and Kevin was downstairs making her a coffee for the road (albeit under protest), but part of her wanted to stay here with the little family she created all on her own, and pretend for a moment that they were her only priority.

Ally made a noise in her sleep, clutching her stuffed rabbit a little tighter. She’d recently denounced such toys as babyish, but the rabbit still found its way into her bed every night all the same. Clutching the car keys tightly so they didn’t jingle, Shirley crossed the room and bent down beside Ally’s bed. She placed her hand on top of her daughter’s, rubbing it softly with her thumb. For just a second, she wished that she had the ability to know what Ally was dreaming about; she hoped it was nice, not scary or unsettling like Shirley’s own dreams. She hoped that she remembered it and would tell them all about it excitedly over the breakfast table, ignoring Jayden when he complained that it didn’t make sense. Most of all, she hoped that Ally’s nightmares never came true the way her's did.

Shirley had no control over any of this of this, so for now, she merely squeezed Ally’s hand and hoped that her little girl could feel how much she loved her. Then, she went downstairs to say goodbye to her husband and begin the long drive up to Maine.

_

Steve woke up and felt, for the first time in weeks, legitimately well-rested. He was immediately wary and suspicious about this, which only increased when he opened his eyes and found himself in an unfamiliar bedroom. It was neat and plain, with nothing to clutter it except a few cardboard boxes stacked in the corner. He would guess that this was the Quells’ spare room.

The thought jolted him upright, patchy memories reappearing in his brain. The evening was somewhat of a blur, intermingling with the nightmarish time spent in the basement. However, three things definitely stood out to him; the first being his awful phone call with Leigh, the second being the fact that Luke and Theo were worried enough about him to drive up from Boston, and the third being that both John and Alanna’s own ‘sinful’ abilities were very much a part of their perfect little life, regardless of what they tried to tell him.

Whatever Alanna had done to him was totally unfamiliar to Steve – he knew about the feeling-emotions-thing, the making stuff-move-thing, and the seeing-dead-people thing, but deliberately exerting influence over someone’s mind like that? Steve had only ever known one entity capable of doing that, and it wasn’t a person, but a house.

Now that his head was a little clearer, Steve took a moment to wonder that the fuck he was still doing here.

He threw he bedcovers off decisively and swung his feet off the bed, intending to march right out of this house. However, his movement caused something to fall off the bed and bounce off the floor. Frowning, he bent down to pick it up. It appeared to be a stuffed giraffe, although its colours had faded to a dull grey-beige. Steve held it in both hands for a minute, running his fingers over the wispy mane. Slowly, old memories and feelings rose up to meet his skin. He flinched, but forced himself to hold on.

The giraffe was like an unedited novel, full of thousands of rambling stories. It remembered a child who played with it, dressed it up, and clutched it to her chest when she needed to feel brave. As the child grew older, the giraffe held on to darker secrets for her – her shame and fury, the suffocation she felt, and the pain she inflicted upon herself just to feel normal. It had been thrown into walls over and over again, covered in tears and snot in the dead of night, and stroked softly as the child took comfort in nostalgia.

When he could take no more, Steve carefully put the toy on the bed next to him and scrubbed at his eyes. In many ways, Emma wasn’t so different from other kids her own age. She was ashamed and insecure, angry and curious, desperate to be her own person. Steve remembered feeling like that, and he could even relate to the bits of her life that weren’t normal, having grown up in the shadow of Hill House. But even in his darkest times, when he’d felt abandoned by his parents, he’d known that they’d loved him, and at least _tried_ to do their best by him. Perhaps that was a little more obvious now in hindsight, but it had always been there, an invisible, unconscious security that had propped him up throughout his life. It had helped him to form relationships, get married, pursue his passions, and be successful. Steve knew he was fucked up, but he wasn’t dead. He couldn’t confidently say the same for Emma, if she continued like this.

Steve knew he could probably just leave. But Emma couldn’t.

He pondered this problem as he used the en-suite, wondering what his next step should be. The sensible thing would be to call Child Services, though he truly doubted that they would do anything useful for a teenage girl form a middle-class family. Although, if they saw the handcuffs in the basement, that might help; especially if Emma was honest with them about what was happening.

 _As if you would be, in her position,_ an inner voice taunted him. _You, a forty-year-old man, can’t even be honest with your own family._

Right, so leaving it all to Child Services was probably about as good as doing nothing. Which meant that it fell on him to do something about it. Exactly what that might be, Steve had no idea.

The more he considered this new obligation, falling like a rock on top of all the other responsibilities he had no idea how to keep, the more agitated he felt. Images of Hill House, his dad, and Luke lying dead on the floor flashed before his eyes. Agitation soon gave way to anxiety, then outright panic, and Steve found himself gripping the edge of the sink, his breaths coming quick and his head pounding. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the toothbrush holder rattling.

“No. Nope. Nuh-uh. We’re not doing this again,” he muttered to himself. The toothbrush holder did not listen, and then every loose item in the tiny bathroom – the toilet brush, the hair care products on the sink, even the cupboard doors – started making noise. Desperately, he tried to anchor himself. He thought of his siblings, of Nell in the Red Room, the strongest and surest of them all despite being dead. He thought of Leigh, how steady and beautiful she was, even though she probably wasn’t _his_ anymore. He pretended that this was all a story he was writing, that he was detached and in control. “I said _no,_ ” he repeated, more firmly.

Slowly, everything went quiet. Steve let out a breath and slumped over the sink, beyond relieved. Maybe this wasn’t the end of the world, after all. Maybe he could be in control here.

Once his breathing had slowed down, Steve raised his head to look in the mirror.

His mother was standing over his shoulder. She smiled at him and said, _“Very good, Baby,”_

Steve yelped and staggered backwards, crashing against the en-suite door. It fell open and he went with it, barely managing to stay on his feet. Several items in the room went flying without him ever laying a finger on them, including the pillow, his sweater, and the stuffed giraffe. Yet, when he glanced back at the mirror, it was empty.

Several seconds passed, and then he heard a new voice. “Wow.”

He glanced around in a panic, but it was only Emma, standing in the doorway of the spare room and looking around at the mess.

“Uh, Sorry,” he stammered. “I … I just …”

She flapped her hand at him impatiently. “Whatever, I get it.”

Her words, dismissive though they were, made something settle inside his chest. “Right.”

Another few seconds passed, then Emma jerked her head towards the exit. “Come on. I wanna show you something outside.”

Steve hesitated, suddenly wondering who else had heard the commotion. Emma rolled her eyes. “Come _on_. Mom’s in the shower and Dad and Grandma are still asleep. Crazy psychic hangovers, or something.”

She left, clearly expecting Steve to follow. With a lack of anything better to do with his morning, Steve followed. On his way out, he scooped the giraffe off the floor.

The house was quiet as they padded slowly through in bare feet, mid-morning light streaming through the windows. Steve glanced at his phone, but it had died for real this time, so he had to guess that the time was around ten am. Abruptly, he remembered that there was a world and a life outside these walls, and asked Emma, “Don’t you have school?”

She gave him a look that suggested he was the biggest idiot on the face of planet Earth. “It’s Sunday.”

“Oh.” He’d blame his lack of time-awareness on the events of the last few days, but really, he was always like that.

Emma let him out the laundry door to the backyard. Here, he regretted his bare feet, because the grass was damp with recent rain. It didn’t seem to bother Emma, who went right over to the toy swing-set on the lawn and sat on the wet plastic seat. There was one right next to it, and Steve inferred that he should probably take it. Under their combined weight, the swing-set sagged, but only a little. Steve let his toes drag in the mud and grass, tilted his face up to the grey sky, and felt almost at peace for the first time in weeks.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, rocking back and forth. “So,” he eventually said. “This is what you wanted to show me?”

She shrugged. “Just wanted to remind you that there was life outside the house. Since, you know, you haven’t left for the last few days.”

It was a fair point, Steve realised. “Well, thanks,” he said. After a moment, he held the giraffe up. “On that note, is this yours?”

She went pink in the cheeks. “Used to be.”

“Did you give it to me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with a sniff.

He hid a smile. “I appreciate it if you did.”

“Yeah, well. He’s actually kind of good at warding off weird shit. I mean, he used to be. I don’t know.” She gave him a furtive look. “I saw a lady in your room.”

His chest went tight. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. She had long brown hair and a red dress. Super creepy.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose that would have been my mom.” It felt weird to admit that out loud. For as long as he could remember, Steve couldn’t remember disclosing to anyone the visions he had of his mother.

“She died when you were a kid, right?”

“Right,” he confirmed, thinking it over. “Somehow, she’s never really left, though.”

“Huh. Well, she’s super creepy and all, but at least she cares enough to check in, I guess,” Emma said.

That was one way to put it. “I guess,” Steve agreed noncommittally.

“ _My_ parents don’t care about me that much, and they’re not even dead,” she continued, swinging herself back and forth.

Steve’s face twisted. On the one hand, the Quells were clearly doing wrong by their daughter. On the other, there was evidence that they did care, in their own way. From Susie’s memories and John’s angry words, he could infer that they wanted to look after Emma. Even here, in the yard, the old toys and play equipment told Steve that there were people here who _tried_. There was even a treehouse, he realised sardonically. Steve hadn’t had a treehouse. “I think they do love you,” he said, very carefully. “But there’s things that they’re doing which aren’t okay. You know that, right?”

She shrugged again and didn’t answer.

“I mean,” he went on to say. “It’s actually illegal to discipline a child by … well … restraining them in that manner. Did you know that?”

“Yes,” she said bluntly.

“As a responsible adult, I should tell you that I should probably make a call to Child Services,” he said, feeling supremely awkward. “Now, I know that sounds really scary, and they might not even respond, but …”

“They already have,” Emma interrupted.

That threw Steve for a loop. “Really?”

“Yeah, years ago. I missed a lot of school when I was little, ‘cause I was throwing all these tantrums and breaking things. Dad told them I was sick, and this proved it.” She rolled up her sleeve to show him the needle marks. “But like, one day I _did_ go, and got all upset over something, I don’t even remember what it was. I didn’t break anything. But then my teacher got all worried, and I couldn’t give her a proper answer about what was going on at home, so. She called the welfare.”

Steve was almost afraid to ask what happened next. “And?”

Emma scoffed. “They came to visit while Grandma was staying. So she made them forget what they were even worried about.”

Steve felt a cold chill wrap around his spine. “She can do that?”

“Of course. Grandma can do anything.” Emma’s tone was matter-of-fact, the same as it had been for the whole story.

“She do it to you?”

“Not very often. Mostly when I was little, when she'd sing me lullabies. But she wasn’t around all the time, so Dad had to start using the medication instead.”

“The drugs,” Steve inferred. No wonder John relied on that shit, if his mother used that little trick on him, too. “That’s not okay either. I know I wasn’t a fan.”

“So just leave _,_ then,” Emma said.

“I can’t,” he stressed. “Not after what you just told me.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“Because I’m worried about you. Being here, having to endure this stuff just because you’re different. It’s not right.”

“What do you know?” she demanded, in almost the exact same tone as her father had the previous night. “Didn’t you not believe in _any_ of his stuff until, like, very recently?”

“Well, yes, that’s true,” he said. “I was an idiot. But my family, they … they’re different too, but they didn’t deal with it the same way. My sister, she’s got a little girl, and it’s hard for her, but she’d so good about it, because our mom was good with her.”

“Which sister?” Emma said, suddenly keen with interest.

Steve felt his words die in his throat. What the hell was he doing, running his mouth off about Shirley and Ally? Emma needed help, sure, but what if it got back to her parents? Even if she didn’t mean to, Emma might give them details that would put Steve’s family at risk. He couldn’t have that. “It … it doesn’t matter,” he deflected. “The point is, what’s happening now isn’t right.”

“So what do you suggest I do?” she said. “Run away? Go be a prostitute or a drug dealer?”

Jesus, teenagers were dramatic. “No, obviously. But. I don’t know, is there someone else you could stay with, even if it’s just to get away for a bit? Other family, or friends?”

“I don’t have any friends,” she shot back.

Steve couldn’t tell if she was telling the truth or just being woeful. “Anyone?” he pressed.

She went quiet for a moment. “I used to have sleepovers with my brother, sometimes,” she eventually said.

Belatedly, Steve remembered that the Quells had another child. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Chris. I’d go stay at his dorm on the weekends, sleep on the floor.” A faint smile crossed her face. “His friends would take him to parties and I’d sneak along after him. He’d get all mad and drag me back to the dorm when he caught me. Then we’d stay up and play video games.”

This was sounding promising. “Could you go stay there again?”

“He’s dead now,” she said shortly. “Jumped off a building at the end of last year.”

Steve felt like he’d been hit by a truck. “Oh.”

Emma sniffed brusquely. “He was the only one who got me, and he’d gone now. So, no, I can’t just go have sleepovers with anyone else.”

“I’m sorry, Emma,” Steve said sincerely. His heart ached with shared trauma, remembering how it had felt to know Nell had died. Even seeing her afterwards, knowing she wasn’t completely gone, that hollow gut-punch never felt any better. It made some of the Quells’ behaviour, in retrospect, kind of make sense. In another way, it just made it _worse_.  John had spoken about his eldest son like he was still around. A horrible thought struck him; did he _know_ his son was dead? Or had Alanna made him forget about it? Shaking away the horrible thought for now, he said, “I know what it’s like to lose a sibling.”

“Least you got some spares,” she muttered.

Steve didn’t argue. He knew he was lucky to have Shirley, Theo and Luke. He really needed to return to them soon, like he’d promised.

That gave him an idea. Possibly a bad one, but now he’d thought of it, it was impossible to let it go. “You could come meet them,” he said.

“Huh?”

“My siblings. And me. We’d all be happy to have you.”

A series of emotions crossed her face, ranging the full spectrum from disdain to hope. “Why would I do that?” she said belligerently. “I don’t even know them. I don’t even know _you_ , and all I do know about you is that you’ve crazier than me.”

“Fair enough, but, we’re all pretty good at dealing with crazy. I can promise you, none of use would ever lock you up, or make you feel like you need to physically punish yourself. Not for anything.”

“Like that would fix me?” she asked bitterly.

“No, of course, it wouldn’t fix anything. At least, I don’t know how; my sister might. But no matter what, if you need somewhere safe, we can be that for you. Okay?”

She gnawed at the inside of her lip. “I don’t think my parents would let me,” she said, which at least told Steve that she wasn’t adverse to the idea. “Or grandma. She _definitely_ wouldn’t.”

There was movement from inside the house. Out of the corner of the eye someone pass by the kitchen window. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly filled with resolve. “We’ll see about that,” he told Emma.

 


	15. Negotiations

Steve didn’t exactly have a plan for what to do next. That was fine. Sheer, bloody-minded determination was not a _plan_ , as such, but it was a hell of a lot better than sitting on his ass feeling sorry for himself. Action was better than reaction. Something was better than nothing.

Emma darted inside and disappeared upstairs before he even had a chance to shut the back door, which did not particularly increase his confidence. Probably for the best. Taking a deep breath, he ventured into the kitchen by himself.

The kitchen turned out to be occupied by Susie, who was leaning against the bench and nursing a cup of coffee when Steve walked in. She look she gave him when he walked in was pure resignation.

“Yeah, still here,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Didn’t expect anything different,” she sighed. After a moment, she gestured to the coffee machine. “Help yourself.”

Steve was tempted to make a sarcastic remark, but he managed to swallow it down. Fighting and arguing hadn’t gotten him anywhere up until this point, and he knew it wouldn’t get him what he wanted now. So, with an awkward smile of thanks, he poured himself some coffee, just barely managing not to spill any. He wondered idly if his hands would ever stop trembling.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, sipping their coffee. He glanced sideways at Susie. She was staring out at the swingset where he and Emma had been sitting only minutes ago. Eventually, she said, “What’d she have to say?”

 He chose his words carefully not knowing exactly what answer she was after. “She … wanted me to get fresh air.”

Susie snorted. “How caring.”

Irritated, Steve said, “Yeah, she is. Somehow.”

She shot him a look at the implied insult, but didn’t react. After another sip, she grudgingly asked, “Is she okay?”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

Susie barked a laugh. “Have you ever known a teenage girl to want to talk to her mom about anything?”

Steve made a noncommittal noise. In truth, he had no idea what teenagers did or didn’t want from their parents; his entire adolescence had been set at the very low bar of wishing they were there at all. Still, the comment gave him an idea for how to proceed. “You sound like you’ve just about given up on your relationship with her.”

She glared at him tiredly. “You trying to psychoanalyse us, now?”

“No. I’m not remotely qualified.” If he meant that as a dig towards them as much as himself, well, Susie didn’t seem to notice. She merely went back to staring out the window, watching as the glass became dotted with fresh raindrops. Steve decided that the time to switch tactics was now or never. “Listen, I …” he swallowed his pride. “I owe you an apology.”

She shot him a startled look. He didn’t blame her. “I mean, I still don’t agree with everything that’s happened. Obviously. But I came here looking for answers and help, and your husband has done his best to give me that. Despite all the damage I’ve caused.”

Susie watched him for a moment, probably trying to assess his sincerity. Eventually, she said, “Well, John’s always loved a lost cause. I think it makes him feel better about having no control in his own life.”

“So, what happened last night … that’s not unusual?”

“I didn’t say that,” she snapped. “ _He_ never usually flies off the handle.”

“Not like Emma,” Steve surmised. “What is it for her, like, every weekend? Every night?”

“No!” Susie said too loudly, startling herself. In a quieter voice, she said, “It hasn’t been that frequent in years. Or that bad.”

“Bad enough for the basement, you mean?”

Her face twisted. “That’s ... I mean. It’s almost never. Most of the time she’s fine. She’s _fine_.”

Steve said, “But the times when they’re not fine. There must be a better way to deal with it. Right?”

“You don’t think we’ve tried everything under the fucking sun?” she demanded. “We’ve taken her to counselling, gotten her anxiety meds, got her into all these _activities_. Treated it like some kind of normal disorder. We even tried meditation. _All_ of us, not just her. None of it helped.” Susie angrily rinsed out her mug, then grabbed Steve’s and did the same.

“Okay, I’m hearing you. It sounds exhausting. But …” He trailed off, wondering whether or not to finish the sentence.

“But what? You got another magic solution?” she challenged.

“What about Chris?”

Susie jerked violently, the mug clattering into the sink. A long, horrible moment passed. Steve let it draw out, feeling as though a storm cloud was billowing between them. Eventually, she said in a low, dangerous voice, “Don’t.”

He knew he was treading on thin ice, but pushed ahead anyway. He kept his voice low, mindful of the girl upstairs. “Emma told me he passed away. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t reply, her body perfectly still.

“Look, I wouldn’t bring this up – I know I have no right to – but I’m worried that Emma might end up the same if nothing changes.”

“I was an accident,” Susie whispered raggedly. “He … he drank too much and fell. That’s it.”

Steve hesitated. It was possible Emma didn’t have all the information, and just assumed that he jumped on purpose. But something about the way she’d told him had left no room for doubt. Siblings knew. In their family, they _always_ knew, even if not all of them had the courage to face the truth. Gently, Steve said, “I don’t think that’s true.”

Susie made a muffled noise of rage and shoved him in the chest. He winced and stumbled back a step, but her reaction wasn’t unexpected. He accepted it as a natural consequence of this conversation. Steve lifted his arms in surrender, watching carefully for a follow up attack. But she merely looked at him with dark rage and tears in her eyes, and turned back to the sink. Her hands clawed around the bench top, white-knuckled and desperate. Gingerly, he placed a hand on her arm. Then he quickly snatched it back, because the anger, grief and utter helplessness was too much to feel all at once.

What must it be like, to live in a house where every fight could lead to catastrophe? Between her husband and daughter’s meltdowns and her mother-in-law’s quiet control, it was no wonder she muted her own feelings in coldness and apathy.

“I know you’re doing your best,” he said. “And I know there are plenty of good times. Maybe even most of the time. But when it does get bad – really bad – it needs to be different. For your daughter.”

Susie laughed raggedly. “So, we’re back to this. Remind me again what you think the magic solution is?”

Her tone was mocking, but Steve thought he caught a hint of sheer wistfulness. He set aside his own agenda for a moment and thought about what he might have wanted to hear, back when he was young and angry and had all these odd, angry kids relying on him. Hell, even last week when he'd had the pressure of his promise to Dad weighing on his mind, and ghosts at his back, and felt totally alone and terrified. He took a deep breath. “Let her be angry, for starters. Take her outside, or hell, out to the woods if you have to. Let her scream and throw shit around, and just … stay with her. Then when she stops being angry, after she’s broken everything n sight, give her a hug and tell her you still love her.”

Susie’s face clouded. “But if it really is evil, we can’t just let it out. That’s just letting the devil win.”

“Love her despite the devil,” he snapped. “Even if that’s true, wouldn’t he fucking hate that more than anything?”

She blinked at that and looked away. For the first time, she looked hesitant. “I don’t know if I can do that,” she whispered shamefully.

Steve closed his eyes against the anger that threatened to rise. It was good she was finally being honest, he told himself. He had to respect that. “Then … for the times when it’s bad, not just with her, but with John, or hell, even you … when it’s so bad you can’t handle it, and you can’t love her at all … let her be somewhere else. Somewhere safe.”

“Like where? Who could possible deal with that?”

“I would,” he said immediately.

She glanced at him with shock. It was quickly followed by scepticism. “You think you're some kind of saviour,” she accused him. “You think you can march right in here with good intentions and just save the fucking day. Like it’ll be that easy?”

“I know it won’t be,” he said. “But I’ll do it anyway.”

“You can’t even control _yourself_ ,” she pointed out. “How are you supposed to help her if you’re both bringing the walls down?”

Here, Steve hesitated. But only for a second. “My family will help. My sister’s a child psychologist, and my other sister, she’s … well, she has some experience with special kids. Look, we’re all kind of fucked up, I’m not denying that. But we can make a place for Emma, and we’ll look after her, even if it’s just now and then. Just so you and her can have a break.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, shaking her head. But Steve could tell he was getting through; there was no hiding the fragile, naked hope in her eyes. Again, he gently touched her arm, and managed not to recoil. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

“Don’t listen to him, Susan,” Alanna said suddenly. Both Steve and Susie looked around, startled. She was standing in the doorway, looking far less put-together than Steve had grown used to. She was wearing an old pink bathrobe over her nightgown, and her gray hair was dishevelled. There was a deep frown on her face, which emphasised all her lines and wrinkles. Nonetheless, her blue eyes were as sharp as always, and Steve found himself wanting to take a step back. “He’s trying to take your daughter away from you.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Steve said firmly.

“Oh, Sweetheart. I can see right through you.”

Susie help up her hand. “Alanna, it’s fine. I can handle this.”

Ignoring her, Alanna strode forward into the kitchen. She stared Steve down, looking genuinely angry for the first time. “We’ve tried to help you, young man. I didn’t expect gratitude, but that’s the truth of it. Now I see that you won’t accept that help, you’d just prefer to wallow in your own sinful nature, and what’s worse, you’ll drag an innocent girl down with you.”

“Oh, now she’s innocent?” Steve shot back, unable to help himself.

“She can still be saved! Her soul is in turmoil, but we can save her. If you take her away from us, you’ll be condemning her to hell. Is that what you want?”

Steve looked to Susie for help, hoping she didn’t buy into this level of lunacy. But she was scowling at the floor, not looking at either of them. Eternally helpless in the face of conflict, as usual. Still, he couldn’t blame her. Now that he’d seen what Alanna was capable of, he had to be careful. Trying to remain calm, he said, “All I want is for her to have a safe place to come to, if she needs it. I’m not trying to take custody or anything, I’m not even gonna call the cops, even though I’d be well within my rights to do so.” Alanna narrowed her eyes but said nothing. “I’m just trying to help. In my own way, just like you tried to help me in your own way.”

The moment stretched out, tense and terrifying. It was broken when John stumbled into the room after his mother, looking bleary-eyed. “Morning all,” he said, yawning. He took a step forward, towards the coffee pot, before sensing the tension. “What’s going on?”

Alanna’s stern face melted into a smile. “Nothing, Dear. We were just talking about Steve going home.”

“I’m not leaving,” Steve said immediately. “Not until you see reason.”

John raised his hands, already trying to play the middleman. “Can we talk about this over breakfast? Or at least after we’ve all had some coffee? Please?”

“What’s the matter?” Steve said. “You feeling the effects of your mother’s mind rape?”

Alanna shot him a truly poisonous look while her son gaped at him. “That is _enough._ We don’t talk like that in this house.”

“That doesn’t stop you from acting like that,” Steve said. “Why is Emma’s soul the only one worth worrying about? Isn’t yours just as tainted, after what you've done?”

The three of them stared at him in shock. John was the first to break the silence. “You can’t speak to my mother like that! I think she’s right, it’s time you left our home.”

“I’d be happy to,” he said. “But first I need to know that Emma won’t end up like her brother.”

Alanna gasped softly. John’s face went perfectly blank for a second. His eyebrows twitched like a radio jumping between stations. “Chris? What does he have to do with this?”

Steve knew he had limited time, and could no longer afford to be tactful. “His suicide, John. You should have told me; I would have understood you so much better.”

“He didn’t. It was an accident,” John said, still oddly blank.

Steve shot Alanna an incredulous glance. “Is this your doing?”

She merely shook her head at him with disgust.

John shook himself. A look of true grief passed over his face, but it was quickly gone. “It’s low of you to bring that up, Steve. You of all people know how dangerous it is for people like us to wallow in negativity. My …” his voice cracked slightly. “My son’s death was a tragic accident. He’s with God now, and we’ve all learned to live with that.”

Steve realised with sudden, painful clarity, that there was nothing unnatural at work here. This was just a man so far in denial that he’d constructed an entirely new reality for himself. For if he didn’t, what might happen? The guilt would break him, and destruction would be left in its wake. Steve knew a bit about that. Looking around at them all – resolute John, suspicious Alanna, and avoidant Susie – Steve was forced to confront the fact that he wouldn’t be getting anywhere with them today. Perhaps he never would.

“Okay,” he said. “I can see I’m just making things worse, so I’ll leave. I’m sorry for causing you all this trouble.”

He turned around and made his way back down the hall. He didn’t have his keys and his phone was dead, but he couldn’t stay here another minute. He had to get out, call his siblings, call the police, call Child Services. Maybe they would be useless, but he’d follow any path available to him to get Emma out of this house.

He felt a pang of guilt, letting her believe he’d just up and left, after promising to help. _I’ll be back_ , he thought fiercely.

A hand closed around his shoulder. “No, I don’t think so,” Alanna said.

The front door was all of eight feet away. He froze, fear suddenly shooting down his spine. “Let me go,” he said. “I’m leaving, just like you wanted.”

“I know what you’re doing,” she said, her voice quiet and venomous. “You’ll bring the devil right to our doorstep.”

He tried to shake her off, but her fingers were like steel. Haze descended over his mind, and the hallway started to tilt sideways. He grit his teeth. “Stop it.”

“What do you honestly think you’ll accomplish?” Alanna taunted. “You’re nothing but a little boy who can’t control his tantrums. You’ll just end up hurting your family, just like you’ve hurt us. They wouldn’t want you back.”

“That’s not true!”

“No? Your wife certainly doesn’t.”

Steve didn’t have a retort for that. He was undefended against the grief and guilt that slammed into him. Alanna made a noise of satisfaction, as if she could feel it too. “You knew the truth of that when you called her, didn’t you?”

Steve realised he’d sunk to his knees. His head was pounding. “Let me _go_.”

“I can’t do that. You’re unsafe. It wouldn’t be responsible.”

“I’m not …”

“Of course you are. See?” She gestured to the photographs on the wall, which had started to rattle around. Distantly, he heard something fall over in the lounge. Steve pulled at his hair and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find a scrap of the control he’d had that morning.

“Dad?” Emma’s voice called out, her feet falling heavy on the stairs. “What’s going on?”

Something upstairs went _bang_ , and she yelped.

“Stay right there!” John said. He hurried over. “Mom, enough. He’s gonna cause real damage.”

“You’re right. I think you’d better get the medication,” she said.

“No!” Steve said, causing the walls to bang again. It felt like something inside of him was trying to escape through the paint and plaster.

“Just let him leave,” John pleaded. “Why keep him here?”

“Because I need to protect our family!” Alanna said.

While they argued, Steve squinted at the front door. It was so near, yet so far away. His mother stood before it, looking larger and darker than she ever did in his memories. She held an arm out to him, and for a second, it seemed like the walls of Hill House stood behind her. _“Come to me, Baby,”_ she said. _“Let it all go, and come to me.”_

She would have him bring the entire house down, he realised. It would be so easy, to throw himself against these walls until they crumbled. This place, and these people, would be torn to pieces by the shattered glass. And he would be free. He would be _awake_.

But. Emma.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, a sob escaping him as the pain in his head became overwhelming. For a moment, the storm seemed to quiet.

“Come on, Steve,” John was saying. “We’ll just go downstairs and calm down, alright?”

He tried to pull him to his feet, but his hands cut like knifes and burned like matches extinguished against bare skin. Steve lurched backwards, trying to escape the touch. He stumbled back into the lounge area, where all the loose items on the table continued to wobble. The Quells followed him. John hovered over him helplessly, and Alanna’s eyes were resolute. She wasn’t trying to make him sleep, like last night. She wanted him to know exactly what he was capable of, and how terrifying it could be. In that moment, Steve realised she was right. He had no control. He was helpless and dangerous and everything fucking _hurt,_ and there was nothing he could do.

“Help me,” he heard himself whisper, curling inwards in shame.

Alanna read the submission in his eyes and smiled. “Of course, Honey. We’ve got you.”

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. They all glanced back down the hallway in surprise. Steve felt the pain in his head lessen, and everything stopped shaking.

A few moments passed, and then the knock came again, more insistently than before. When that, too, got no reaction, a fist started banging on the frosted glass.

“ _Come on!”_ a very familiar voice called. “ _I know there are people inside, there’s at least three cars in the driveway!”_

 _“Calm down, Shirl,”_ another voice said.

More banging. “ _Don’t make me make_ him _break the door down!”_

_“Shirl!”_

Panic flared in Steve’s gut. It paralysed him, keeping him rooted to the spot as Susie and John had a silent, frustrated argument over whether or not to answer the door. When it became obvious that their visitors weren’t going anywhere, Susie threw her hands up and made her way back down the hall.

 _“Look, we are worried for our brother’s welfare and need to get inside,”_ Theo’s voice said, in a clear attempt to be calm and reasonable, despite sounding about as yielding as a brick wall. _“So just let us in so we can clear this up.”_

Steve realised that this wasn’t a dream, his siblings were here, and they would be inside within moments. They’d see him like _this_. One of the whiskey glasses from last night shattered as he ran past. Ignoring John and Alanna’s remarks, he bolted upstairs, dodging around Emma on the landing (“hey, what the fuck?”) and threw himself back into the spare room en-suite. He slammed the door shut just as the front door clicked open, and barely managed to get to the toilet before throwing up.

Downstairs, the remaining Crain siblings entered the Quells’ home.


	16. Philosophies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, this is a super long chapter, and it gave me many headaches. I hope you enjoy it!

After what happened at the lake house, Theo bought herself a replacement pair of gloves. They were cheap and ill-made, and she kept flexing her fingers convulsively against the loose fabric.

Contrary to popular belief, Theo was not an aggressive person. She might have been when she was younger, getting into fights with anyone who looked at her the wrong way (which, growing up as a young lesbian psychic with a freakshow family, happened a lot). Now as an adult and a doctor, things were different. She was closed off, sure. Cold, prickly, and intimidating, absolutely. Yet she never relied on violence as her first solution. She was far more likely to stare someone down than punch them in the face.

The last time Theo had hit someone, Nell had been eighteen and the guys in the bar had been eyeing her like Bambi in the forest. But then, Nell had always been her weakness. Generally, Theo did not hit people.

Right now, after her eldest brother’s disappearance, a couple of very poor night’s sleep, and being confronted with her family’s history of intergenerational trauma, Theo’s temper was hanging by a thread. When they arrived at the large suburban home and banged on the door until someone finally answered, Theo felt a strong urge to crack her knuckles in the woman’s face.

“What?” the woman said shortly.

Shirley, who still had her own fist raised from banging insistently on the door, lowered it and cleared her throat. “Hello. I’m sorry. Are you Susan Quell? We’re looking for our brother. Tall, but not as tall as him,” she gestured to Luke, lurking just behind herself and Theo. “Brown hair, glasses. We know he came here, and it’s really important that we find him. Is he inside?”

Susan was silent for a moment, her face carefully blank. She then said, “Yes, he came by. We haven’t seen him since yesterday, though. I’m sorry, who are you?”

Before Shirley could reply, Luke growled, “She’s lying.”

The woman’s lips thinned. “Look, I can’t help you. Please leave my property before I call the police.”

Theo knew then that, at the very least, she was hiding something. Anyone else would have called the police as soon as Shirley started kicking up a fuss on their front porch. Her hand shot out to catch the door just as Susan tried to slam it shut. “You really need to let us inside.”

Susan pushed back ineffectually, her face falling into something close to panic. “I told you, he’s not here!”

“Yes, he is,” Luke said with absolute certainly, squeezing past his sisters to stare Susan down. “And he’s in trouble.”

With that, he shoved the door open, causing her to stumble back. She made a scared noise and Shirley jerked forward in surprise. Apparently, for all her anger, she hadn’t actually wanted to break in. “Luke –” she started.

Theo shook her head at Shirley. “He’s right,” she said, and followed her brother through.

Inside, the house looked like it had been hit by a minor earthquake. The hallway was littered with fallen picture frames, with pieces of glass dotted across the carpet. Even with the gloves, she was immediately hit with a sense of _wrongness_. Not like the old, evil energy at Hill House, exactly, but something desperate, chaotic, and very familiar. From the tension in Luke’s shoulders and the hitch of breath that Shirl took as she entered, Theo guessed they felt it too.

At the end of the hallway, a man appeared. “Susie? What’s going on? Oh.” He beheld the three of them with a slightly bewildered expression. “Um, hello.”

“Call the police, John!” Susan snapped, standing off to the side with her arms wrapped around her waist.

“Uh …”

“I don’t think he wants to do that,” Theo said coolly, following Luke further inside.

“Where’s Steve?” Luke demanded.

“I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ignoring him, Shirley strode into the kitchen-lounge and snatched something off the bench. She held the phone up triumphantly. “This belongs to him!”

John exchanged a helpless glance with his wife. The silence stretched around them, growing more tense with each passing moment. Suddenly, there was a noise from the landing, and each of them glanced up. Without hesitation, Luke bolted up the stairs. Shirley followed him. Susan and John made to run after them, but Theo planted herself at the base of the stairs and glared them down. “Don’t.”

Whatever they saw in her face was enough to make them hesitate, but Susie balled her hands into fists. “My daughter’s up there!”

Theo frowned. She didn’t want to scare any children. “They won’t hurt her,” she said. “Once we have our brother, we’ll leave straight away.”

“He came to us!” John blurted out. “He was out of control, and needed our help! He could have left at any time, but didn’t. What does that tell you?”

Out of control? What the fuck did that mean? Theo shrugged the words away. She just wanted to get out as soon as possible. “I don’t care. He’s coming with us, whether he likes it or not.”

“Do you even know? What he’s capable of?” John demanded. “He’s a poltergeist in human skin. He’ll hurt people if you’re not careful, are you prepared to deal with that?”

Theo narrowed her eyes at him, her hackles raised at the way this guy was talking about her brother. Steve was many things – condescending, aloof, insensitive, and utterly oblivious to reality at times – but he was fundamentally a good person. He was hardly a _poltergeist_ , whatever the fuck that meant. Theo didn’t know what had happened here over the past few days, but she’d trust him any day over these people. They might be ‘family’ but after what happened at the lake house, Theo wasn’t taking that at face value anymore.

There was a noise upstairs, and Shirley’s voice raised in alarm. Automatically, Theo turned in that direction, ready to intervene. A hand closed around her wrist. “Please, listen to me!” John said plaintively.

Theo wrenched away in disgust. Even with the gloves, she could tell the man was an open book, panic barely contained behind his whitewashed domestic veneer. “Don’t touch me,” she spat. To the others, she called out, “All good up there?”

“Yeah,” Shirley replied. “He’s just being stubborn.”

“We only did what we had to,” John was still blathering on. “For our safety and his.” He then reached out to her again, his hand enclosing around the bare skin of her upper arm this time. Theo was immediately his with a rush of images, propelled forward by his panic. She saw a dark room, handcuffs clicking into place, a child crying, a man screaming, and a soft voice whispering poison. Theo didn’t think; she just reacted. Her fist shot out and caught him in the face, landing with a satisfying, dull _crack_. He yelped and stumbled away from her, clutching his head.

“How dare you!” Susie screeched, rushing forward to inspect the damage. “Do you want to be arrested?”

Theo just shook her hand out, breathing heavily. “Don’t touch me,” she repeated, before fleeing upstairs.

_

Steve was confused. Somehow, he’d ended hunched on the floor of the bathroom with no memory of getting there, his back against the wall and his head in his hands. Time and space seemed to have unravelled slightly at some point. The room felt so much wider than before, and the walls wouldn’t stay still. There were voices muttering from the corners, buried deep in the cracks between the tiles that Susie hadn’t been able to clean properly.

Someone yelled – he thought it might have been Theo – and the toothbrush holder rattled right off the basin and crashed to the floor. Steve squinted at it, his eyes watering from the pain in his head. Was that his fault? Probably a safe assumption, at this point.

Someone’s fist banged on the bathroom door, and he groaned.

“Steve? It’s me.”

 _Luke was seven years old, knocking on Steve’s door to beg him for company._ No, wait. That wasn’t right. They’d spoken on the phone yesterday. With gargantuan effort, Steve raised his head to reply. “I thought I told you to go home, Luke.”

The doorknob rattled. “Let me in, Steve.”

He was fairly sure Luke had never sounded so assertive in his life. He’d feel proud, if it weren’t so fucking inconvenient. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean? Are you hurt?” The rattling increased.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Steve said. “I just … I have a migraine. I need to be left alone right now. Please.”

For a few blissful moments, there was silence. Then, someone rapped smartly on the door. “Steve,” Shirley said. Her voice was stern and uncompromising, and he was confused all over again. What the fuck was _Shirl_ doing here? “Unlock this door right now.”

“Just go away,” he half-whispered. His siblings didn’t hear him, or they ignored him. As he watched the door shake against its hinges, Steve realised that they’d probably touch him if they managed to get inside. At the thought of their hands against his bare skin, and all their anger, blame, and judgement pressing down on his exposed nerves, he wanted to throw up all over again. “Go away!”

Again, there was a moment of quiet. He then heard Shirley snap, “Does anyone have a key for this?”

“It doesn’t lock,” Emma’s voice said. Steve had forgotten she was even upstairs.

“Then why the fuck can’t we get in?” She slapped her hand against the door in frustration.

“He must be keeping it shut,” the girl said casually. “You know, with his mind.”

There was an awkward pause, and Steve felt new shame rise in his gut. He pushed his face into the crook of his elbow and resisted the urge to scream. “With his _what_?” Shirley demanded.

While he tried to tune out the rest of the argument, not wanting to hear what they said about him, Steve felt cold arms circle around his shoulders. He shivered and refused to look up at his mother. “It’s okay, Baby,” she whispered. “They love you so much, but they don’t understand.”

“Makes all of us, I think,” he asked, his words muffled by his sweater. But it wasn’t true, and he knew it. He understood all too well what was wrong with him.

She squeezed him gently. “It will be okay.”

He wished he could believe her, the way he used to. “Do I belong back in the House?” he asked, finally giving voice to the dark thought that had been lurking at the bottom of his mind. “Is that what you want?”

“I would love that, Steve. But what do you want?”

Steve felt darkness creep across the edges of his vision. He didn’t think it was his mother, or Alanna. He was just so _tired_. “If I die right here, will I go to the House?”

Her arms tightened in alarm. “No, Baby.”

“What will happen?”

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding genuinely scared for the first time since he was a child. “Don’t do that, Steve. If you wait, if you come back to me, you won’t die. You’ll wake up. I promise.”

Steve considered it a moment. He thought back to that last night in Hill House, observing his dad’s memories, seeing his mother and Nell in the Red Room. He could be with them again. Perhaps that was where he belonged. But a stubborn part of him just couldn’t accept that. It was so petty, but he couldn’t let the House win. It might be his responsibility, his tragic family heirloom, but he hated it to its very foundations, and it didn’t deserve a single scrap. Not even a soul as weak and ragged as his.

But what was the alternative? Get up off this floor, face his siblings, keep on existing as … whatever he was now?

Slowly, Steve raised his head. The bathroom swam before his eyes, but he tilted his gaze towards the broken toothbrush-holder on the floor. Some of the ceramic shards looked sharp enough to break skin. Maybe a little pain would help, just like it helped Emma.

His mother’s hand closed over his wrist before he could reach for it. “You don’t want pain,” she accused him “You want it to end.”

He was too exhausted to argue. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” she said viciously. She tried to turn his head towards her, but he resisted, squeezing his eyes shut. “Steve, you are my child. You belong to me, _with_ me, and I won’t let you throw it all away.”

He ignored her, straining to reach across the floor. Outside, the banging increased in earnest. Luke was yelling at him again, sounding increasingly panicked.

“Your father left you in charge,” she said urgently. “Would you have Shirley take on your responsibilities? Or Theo? Or Luke?”

“Maybe,” he replied mulishly, but without any heart. His hand faltered slightly. “I never wanted it. I never asked for it.”

“I didn’t either, Steve,” she sighed. “But it’s ours nonetheless.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Dimly, he was aware of Theo’s voice now present behind the door, arguing with Shirley. It occurred to him that they all felt as hopeless as each other. “Why did you do it, Mom?” he asked. “Why did you have to leave us like this?”

The hands tightened painfully. “Steve …”

She didn’t reply, and her touch disappeared. Steve realised suddenly that he was alone again. Pathetically, he wanted her back. Even if she was just a corruption of his memory, or hell, some kind of hallucination, he still felt like she was the only one who truly understood him right now.

The seconds ticked by. Then, oddly, everything went quiet; his siblings arguing, the Quells downstairs yelling, the door banging, and all the chaos in his head, it all fell away. The pressure in his head loosened. It felt like breaking the surface of a deep lake, and taking a new breath in the cold, fresh air. The relief of it made tears spring to his eyes. When he opened them, he was almost surprised to find himself still sitting in the tiny bathroom.

More surprising was that he _wasn’t_ alone. But the woman before him was not his mother.

“Nell?” he croaked. His youngest sister was crouched before him, dressed in white with her hair loose around her face, just like the last time he’d seen her in the Red Room. She looked different, somehow. More focused. More alive.

She managed a tiny smile. “Hi, Steve.”

“Are … are you really here?”

She nodded.

“How?”

“Because Luke’s here,” she said. “He’s worried about you. We all are. We want to take you home.”

“Home?” Hill House loomed in his mind, unbidden.

She shook her head. “No. Not there, never there.”

“But Mom said …”

“I’m not Mom,” she said, looking almost angry. “And Mom’s not really Mom right now, either. She loves you but you can’t listen to her.”

“I wasn’t,” he muttered.

“Good. Smart.” She tilted her head at him, looking sad. “Did you miss me, Steve?”

“Of course I did,” he said, confused by the question.

“You don’t look happy to see me. You look afraid.”

He felt a distant pang of guilt. “I’m not … afraid of you,” he murmured. “I just don’t really want you seeing me like this.”

“Like what?”

He gestured helplessly. “Crazy. Weak. Out of control. Take your pick.”

“I’ve been all those things, too,” she pointed out. “We all have. You’ve seen all of us at our worse, Steve.”

“It’s different,” he tried to argue. “I’m dangerous.”

“Only towards yourself.” Her eyes slid sideways, towards the broken ceramics. They then flicked back to him accusingly. Steve realised suddenly that his little sister could him inside and out, all his darkest thoughts and failings. She probably knew him better in death than she ever had in life, and could tell just how fucked up he really was. Shame curdled in his gut, and it made him angry.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped. “You killed yourself. You left us just like Mom did.”

As soon as the words were out, he wanted to take them back. But there would be no point. She’d be able to see the bitter rot within him anyway. “I … I’m sorry,” he said anyway. “I know it was hard for you and I never helped … just made things worse … but you said it wouldn’t have changed a thing anyway. I know the House influenced you.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Steve looked away, half expecting that she’d disappear as well. It wouldn’t be the first time he drove her off with angry words. However, all she eventually said was, “I didn’t.”

“What?”

“I didn’t kill myself.”

He stared at her, uncomprehending. She reached out to him, the palm of her hand falling cold against his face, and he gasped. Images flashed before his eyes; Hill House opened up before her, warm and inviting. A locket strung around her neck. Mom’s hand on her shoulder, a kiss against her forehead and then a gentle, happy push. Horror and betrayal as she realised what was happening, _no, Mommy, please, no, no, no._ Nell falling through layers of time, the rope squeezing harder and harder and then ending with a final _crack_ , her screams echoing in six-year-old Nell’s bedroom and inside her siblings’ heads thirty years later.

Steve wrenched himself away. Nell let her hand drop and watched him passively as he braced himself against the floor, tears streaming down his face.

“Sorry,” she said. “I needed you to understand.”

“Oh, God,” he said, scrubbing his face with his hand. Suddenly, all the events of the last few days seemed insignificant. “Nell, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I know.”

Steve had the sudden urge to reach out and hug her. But he didn’t know what else he’d see, and was too scared to find out. “Mom killed you,” he said hollowly.

“She didn’t realise. It wasn’t her fault.”

He suspected it was more complicated than that. But as always, it came down to one thing. "The House?" 

“It … pushed us. We wandered too close to the edge, and it pushed us over.” She wrapped her arms around her knees. “That’s why you shouldn’t get too close, Steve.”

He took a shaky breath. “I have to. Dad wanted me to be responsible for it.”

“Why?” she asked keenly.

He faltered. “Well. To control it, I suppose. To protect the others.” The guilt returned, burning like acid in the back of his throat. “I know I couldn’t protect you, but Theo and Luke … Shirl … they’re still alive.”

She surged forward and cupped his cheek again. He flinched, but there were no flashes of pain or death this time. Her hands felt warm and dry. “Steve, you don’t need to do this on your own. Dad tried, because he felt like he had no choice, but it’s not right. Just leads to pain and secrets, and we hurt ourselves again and again, and then we hurt each other. Like the people in _this_ house. I don’t want us to be like that.”

Steve did not want that either. But he felt like it might be inescapable, at this point. “It’s my job.”

“It’s my job, too.”

“What?”

“The House is my home now, Steve. I know it well. I can keep the door closed from the inside, if you hold it from the outside.”

“You shouldn’t have to do that,’ he said, grieving for her all over again. “What if you end up like Mom?”

She shook her head. “I won’t. Luke helps me. You all do. And we can help you, too. You just have to let us in.”

Steve glanced at the bathroom door. “Are you being metaphorical?”

She smiled. “Maybe.” Her hands found his, and gripped them tightly. There was a deep, dark well beneath her skin, full of memories and old ghosts. But despite all that, she was still his little sister. She was Eleanor Vance, nee Crain, and she loved him. Even knowing him completely, seeing all his rot and weakness, she loved him. Maybe, if she did, then the others would as well. _The rest is confetti._

The noise from outside was starting to return, and so was the pain in his head. He realised that Nell’s presence was starting to fade. Stuck with sudden terror, he grasped for her hands. She shushed him, leaning forward to press her forehead against his. “There is no without, Steve. Remember?”

Reluctantly, he nodded. Something clicked inside his head, and some of the pressure faded. The door fell ajar.

Alone in the bathroom once again, Steve braced himself against the basin and shakily got to his feet. He kept his head down, waiting for them to realise the door was open, trying to control his pounding heartbeat and shallow breathing. After what felt like an eternity, Luke came barrelling through the door, Theo and Shirley right behind him. Emma was nowhere to be seen.

“Steve!”

The next few minutes were a blur. They pulled him out of the bathroom, checking for injuries and demanding answers. Steve mumbled answers as best he could but it was difficult to focus; each touch of their hands was drenched in emotion – anger, fear, relief – and beneath it all, there was an overwhelming sense of _familiarity_. He’d felt it with Nell, too. Steve realised it had probably always been there, but so neglected that it had grown dull and faint. Now, with all his nerves exposed, Steve felt it cracking in his head like a livewire.

“Guys, calm down,” Theo said, pushing Shirley away from him. She was watching his hands as they trembled and clenched compulsively. “Give him some space.”

He felt some relief as they backed off, some of the chaos in his head clearing slightly. Only Luke remained by his side, and that was probably because he could see Steve was about ten seconds away from falling over.

Shirley looked helplessly furious. “What did they do to you?” she asked.

“’M’fine,” he muttered.

“The fuck you are!” she exploded. “You look like a radioactive scarecrow!”

Steve would have laughed at that, if her volume and anger wasn’t so painful. He squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Well start trying, Steve! Because we’ve all been worried sick, and I was really hoping it was a wild goose chase, but here you are, and you look even worse than I thought!”

“Shirl …”

“I mean, why didn’t you call us? Jesus, Steve, what were thinking?”

Unable to bear it anymore, Steve snapped, “Shirl, shut _up_!”

The bedside lamp jumped and toppled off the nightstand, its bulb shattering. The three of them stared at it in shock, then slowly turned back to Steve. He swore under his breath and pressed his face into his hands. He didn’t want to see the look in their eyes.

Surprisingly, Luke was the first one to speak. “How about we get out of here.”

“Agreed,” Theo said grimly, leading the way out of the guest room. “Besides, I might have, uh, punched the husband.”

“Theo!” Shirley hissed.

Steve blinked at her, surprised. “You punched John?”

She flexed her hand. “Yeah.”

“Can you do it again?”

“No!” Shirley answered on her behalf. “No more punching! They might not want to call the police, but let’s not push it, okay. We’re gonna end up looking worse.”

“You should be careful, anyway,” Steve told her. “They’re more dangerous than they look.”

Theo scowled. “Yeah, I gathered.”

He faltered for a moment, wondering what she’d seen. Most of what had happened to him over the past few days had been his fault for not leaving. His siblings wouldn’t have that problem. But there was at least one genuine threat lurking in this house. “Alanna’s the worst,” he said. “She … she gets inside your head.”

“Is Alanna the girl?”

“No, that’s Emma.” Steve’s eyes went wide as he remembered. “Fuck. We need to get Emma. She has to come with us.”

“What?!”

“She’s not safe here.” He lurched past Theo onto the landing. It swayed slightly, and he had to grip the wall, but he could see Emma’s bedroom door. Downstairs, he could hear John and Susie arguing with each other.

“Whoa, hang on,” Theo grabbed his arm. “Steve, I don’t think her parents will be happy with that.”

“I don’t care,” he said.

“Look, we came here for you. Kidnapping a teenage girl isn’t on the agenda.” He caught her exchanging an incredulous look with Shirley. They thought he was insane.

“You don’t understand,” he said desperately. “She needs us. They hurt her.”

Theo’s eyes went hard and resolute. “How bad?”

Suddenly, Emma’s door swung open. She looked uncaring and invincible, leaning against the doorframe. Steve wished he could believe the act. “Ignore him,” she said. “Just go.”

He looked at her helplessly. “I can’t just leave you here.”

“I’m fine. It’s my home, I can deal with it.” When he refused to move, she scowled. ‘I said _go_!”

There was another crash from somewhere in the house. Theo, Shirley and Luke jumped. “Okay,” Shirley said. “Steve? Steve. Listen to me. We can help Emma later, but right now we are getting you out of this house. Okay?”

“She’ll be okay for now,” Luke said quietly.

“How do you know that?” he demanded.

“I – we just do,” he said. “Trust us, okay?”

He squeezed Steve’s shoulder, and Steve swore he could fell the press of Nell’s fingers as well. He didn’t know what to make of that. Theo chewed on her lip for a moment before walking over and handing something to the girl. Steve realised, belatedly, that it was a business card. Emma took the card and made a face. “You want me to see a shrink?”

“That’s me. I’m the shrink,” Theo said. “It’s just if you need to contact us.”

“Don’t talk to them, Emma!” Susie called out shrilly from the base of the stairs.

Theo ignored them. “Any time, any day. Got it?”

Emma shrugged and shoved the card in her pocket. She then watched silently as Steve was led downstairs by his siblings, casting a regretful look over his shoulder at her. He wanted to tell her he’d be back, but right now, he didn’t feel confident saying anything about the future. He could barely focus on getting one foot in front of the other. It was so much easier to passively follow the others, and trust that they could make the right decision in this moment.

John and Susie stopped arguing and glared at them as they came down the stairs. John had an icepack pressed to his forehead. For a moment, the Quells and the Crains sized each other up, two sides of a family that spilt in very different directions. Then Shirley cleared her throat.

“Well, we’ll be going now,” she said. “I doubt you’ll hear from us again.”

Susie’s lips thinned, but she didn’t say anything. John hesitantly lowered the ice pack and took a step forward. “Steve,” he said.

Steve just shook his head. He was done. His real family were here, and whatever happened next, at least he knew he could trust them. “Goodbye, John.”

As a group, they turned to leave. Then Steve registered the familiar figure standing between them and the front door. He jerked to a stop, his heart pounding. Alanna Quell smiled at them.

“Now, let’s just wait a moment,” she said. “We’re all family. Why part on such sour terms?”

Theo and Shirley exchanged a glance. Somehow, Steve knew they both recognised Alanna for the threat she was. “Step aside, please,” Shirley said coldly.

Alanna’s smile fell from her face. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“And why not?”

She tilted her head to the side, frowning. “You come barging in, assault my son, and threaten to take my granddaughter, and you expect me to just let you leave?”

She looked each of them in the eye, and Steve could already feel darkness creeping around the edges of his vision. He saw Theo, Luke and Shirley wince, and knew they felt it too. Perhaps she meant to wipe their memories, if they were lucky. Or perhaps they’d wake up in the basement, chained down and terrified. It would be as if they never left the Red Room.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, trying to draw on the pressure in his head, make it something useful. The glass on the ground jittered and jumped around, but that could be him, or Emma, or John for all he knew. In such a place of chaos, it was impossible to tell where he stood. He felt like just another ghost in the walls, a shapeless mass of energy and fear and want.

“Hush, Steve,” she cooed, and he knew it was hopeless.

Suddenly, Luke left his side for the first time since pulling him out of the bathroom, and shouldered his way to the front of the group. He stared Alanna down, his hands balling into fists. Then he said, quite calmly, “You want to see a real poltergeist?”

There was a beat. Alanna narrowed her eyes. Luke took a breath. Then, in an instant, Nell appeared before him, standing between her siblings and Alanna Quell. But this wasn’t the gentle, sweet soul who had comforted Steve in the bathroom. No, this was a gaunt spectre, deathly pale, with her head bent to an unnatural angle. She opened her mouth and _howled_ , the sound reverberating through the house. Broken glass swirled around her feet, and throughout the house, he heard every window and lightbulb shatter. 

Alanna’s eyes went wide with horror and she staggered backwards, clutching at the crucifix around her neck. Somewhere in the background, John and Susie screamed. The Bent Neck Lady drifted forward, her toes dragging across the carpet. Alanna huddled back against the wall, mumbling prayers under her breath, but there was no stopping the spirit as it leaned forward, its hair whipping around its head and its face twisted with fury.

“There are more things in Heaven and Earth,” it hissed. “Than are dreamed of in your philosophy.”

Alannah cried out and sank to the floor, holding her head in her hands. The spirit stood above her for a moment, savouring the woman’s terror. Then, as suddenly as he came, she disappeared. The house stopped shaking. And the path to the door was now clear.

Luke slumped forward like a puppet with all its strings cut, but he was the first to move. He grabbed Steve and propelled him towards the entrance, trusting that his sisters would follow. Steve did not look back at they crossed the threshold and let themselves out into the pouring rain. It tasted like Nell and his family and freedom.


	17. Drifters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, just wanted to say that all your comments blew me away last chapter. I struggled with it a fair bit, so to get such good feedback was amazing. Thank you, thank you, thank you xxx
> 
> This chapter is pretty non-action compared to the last. Hope you enjoy it anyway :)

When Shirley was eleven years old, her father packed her and her siblings into a car in the middle of the night, and drove them to a motel. It was all a bit of a blur; Mom in the kitchen, Nell crying, Steve demanding answers – but one thing that had always stuck with her was how lost she’d felt. It was as if the world had turned upside down, and the five of them were floating in a void with nothing to hold onto but each other. Mom was their rock, but mom was gone, so Dad did his best but then he had to leave them too. It was down to Steve to be in charge of them during that long, horrible night, because Shirley hadn’t yet learned to swallow down her own childhood needs and become a parent. She learned very quickly after that, though.

Now at thirty-nine years old, Shirley again found herself in a car with her siblings, fleeing a terrifying and confusing situation with no idea of what to do next. Only this time, Dad was dead and Steve was hardly in a position to make decisions. Currently, he was slumped over in the backseat hiding his face from the light outside, even though it was grey and rainy. Beside him, Luke looked on the verge of passing out. Theo might have been some help, but she was following behind them in Steve’s car. It was all up to Shirley to make the decisions.

Normally, she liked being in control. But this wasn’t a normal situation. Shirley didn’t know what to do or where to go, so for the moment, she just drove.

Eventually, Luke broke the silence. “Where are we going?”

Shirley’s hands tightened around the wheel and she cleared her throat, striving for confidence. “We’re going home.”

In her rear mirror, she saw Steve twitch. “Home?” he asked.

“My home,” she clarified. “It’s not that far. Just … just relax. We’ll be there before you know it.”

But he was shaking his head. “No. No, we can’t.”

“Why not?” She eyed the red marks on his wrists and had a sudden, awful thought. “Do you need a hospital?”

“No,” he grunted.

“Are you sure? Maybe we should go anyway, just for a check-up.”

“I don’t need a hospital. I’m fine _._ ”

She shot him a frustrated look. “Well, it’s either the hospital or home, Steve. Unless you want to go straight back to LA, and that is _not_ happening today.”

“No, I don’t want to fucking go back to LA,” he snapped.

“So that leaves my place, then! It’s closest.”

“I … I can’t … your kids, they …” his voice cracked. “I can’t be around them.”

Shirley was confused for a moment. Abruptly she remembered the lamp falling off the table, back at that stupid house. Then she pushed the image away, because she just couldn’t fucking deal with it right now. As for what the hell had just happened with Luke, and, Christ, _Nell_ … nope. Not a today problem. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Steve. All you need is a good sleep, maybe some nice pills, and …”

He wasn’t listening. He just kept shaking his head. “No. I can’t.”

Luke clumsily tried to put his hand on Steve’s shoulder, looking concerned. “Steve, it’s ok.”

His brother jumped at the contact and shrank away. To Shirley’s alarm, he started fumbling for the door handle.

“Hey, no, hey! Steve! Cut that out!”

“Pull over,” Luke said urgently.

Shirley slammed on the breaks and swerved to a halt on the side of the road, forcing Theo to make a hurried stop as well. Steve immediately threw the door open and stumbled out, but barely got a few steps before falling to his hands and knees. Luke and Shirley hurried after him, and Theo kicked her own door open, swearing bloody murder as she stomped towards them. Steve threw up his hand before any of them could get too close.

“Don’t. Please, just. Don’t touch me.”

Shirley watched helplessly, the rain falling hard around them. Steve’s head was bowed, his hair plastered wetly across his face. Under his rumpled clothes, he looked thinner than ever. He was trembling, either from the cold, or tears, or some other physiological stress. It occurred to her, suddenly, that this was the first time she’d seen him in months. Did he look like shit because of the last few days? Or had he been in decline for much longer than that, and she just hadn’t realised? Either way, she felt guilty. First Nellie, now Steve. When would she learn to recognise the warning signs before it was too late?

Eventually, Theo stepped forward and crouched down before him. To Shirley’s surprise, she pulled her gloves off and handed them to her older brother. “Here. These will help.”

He glanced at her, looking utterly lost. “It’s all so much.”

“I know.”

After a moment, he sat down heavily on the curb and accepted the gloves. She helped him put them on, stretching the wet fabric over his fingers with ease of practice. He examined his hands and managed a wry smile. “I don’t think they suit me as well as you.”

“Of course they don’t. I’m a fucking fashion icon.” She then stood and offered him a hand up. “Come on. It won’t fix anything, but it’s a start.”

Hesitantly, he took her hand and let her pull him to his feet. Luke then stepped forward to usher him back into the car, and this time, he didn’t shy away. In fact, he leaned into the support, going slightly limp. Shirley resisted the urge to help. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her own waist and met his eyes as he raised them to look at her, silently begging for her to tell him she understood, to reassure him it was all okay. He’d given her that look before, after the book, after Nell’s death, and so many times in between. She’d always brushed him off, told herself he was an adult and had no business being coddled when he was the oldest and yet had fucked up so many times.

Shirley still had anger towards him, buried somewhere close to the surface, but this wasn’t the time for that. Right now, all she wanted was for him – for all of them – to be okay.

“Okay,” she said, resigned yet decisive. “Motel it is.”

They ended up back at the motel Luke and Theo had stayed at the previous night, and got two rooms to share between them.

“Will you two be okay?” Shirley couldn’t help but ask, hovering over the doorway to Steve and Luke’s room. The eldest of them immediately collapsed on one of the beds, letting out a long sigh. Luke didn’t look far behind, but he paused to nod at her.

“We’ll be fine,” he said, a touch exasperated. “Why don’t you call Kevin?”

Shirley knew she shouldn’t push further. Steve was safe. Luke was safe. But her heart was still racing and it refused to be satisfied. “Call out if you need anything, okay? We’re right across the hall.”

“Sure, Shirl,” Luke said, finally managing to squeeze the door shut in her face.

“We’ll get food later!” she called out. There was no answer. Sighing, Shirley trudged back to her own room.

Theo had already claimed the bed closest to the door, and was propped up against the headboard scrolling through her phone. “They okay?” she asked as Shirley closed the door behind her. She made it sound more like a formality than a genuine enquiry, but Shirley knew better.

Shirley shrugged loosely. “I guess.”

Her sister’s eyes snapped up. “You worried?”

“Yeah. I’ve forgotten how _not_ to be worried.”

Theo _hmmm_ ’d. “Well, if anything attacks them, Luke will just pull a dead twin out of his ass and scare them off, I guess.”

Shirley squeezed her eyes shut, wincing. “Theo.”

“What? Did you know he could do that?”

“No. I knew he was seeing her … talking to her … but that’s the first _I’ve_ seen of her since she fucking died.” Shirley shuddered. Even though she’d known Nell wouldn’t harm her, seeing her little sister like that had been terrifying.

“What a lovely reunion,” Theo said drily. She let a few seconds pass in contemplative silence, then swung her feet around to stand up.

“Where are you going?” Shirley said, alarmed.

“To get food. And alcohol. I need it.”

“Do you, Theo? Do you really?” Shirley pressed.

Theo gave her a flat look.

“Okay, fine.”

Her sister’s eyes softened. “I’ll be back soon. Try and get some sleep, okay?”

“Aren’t you exhausted? You and Luke have been on the go for the last few days.”

She shrugged. “Once Steve talks, then I’ll sleep.”

Shirley sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, feeling fragile. “What the hell’s going on with him?” she asked plaintively. “Is he … like you now?”

Theo snorted. “Like me?”

“You know, all …” she waggled her fingers, then hurriedly slapped them back on the bed, feeling awkward. “Sensitive, or whatever.”

She scoffed and threw her hands out. “I don’t know, Shirl. I don’t know any fucking thing. But I’ll bet you eighty bucks, once he wakes up, he’ll pretend everything’s just fine and normal.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Oh, he will.”

“He can’t!”

“Just try him.” Theo made her way out the door. “Which is why, if we’re gonna get anything out of him, we’re gonna need whiskey. Now try and get some fucking sleep, okay? The last thing we need is for you to yell at him, and trigger some goddamn psychic meltdown.”

Shirley gaped, speechlessly offended, as her sister closed the door behind her. “Rude.”

_

Theo drove for three blocks and then pulled over on the side of the road. For a long while she just sat there, watching the rain fall lightly across the windshield. Part of her wished she’d waited and slept for a while before trying to venture outside, but she had enough stress and worries of her own without having to deal with Shirley’s as well.

She should really call Leigh; the poor woman deserved an update, even if she’d gone oddly quiet over the last couple of days. But that could be a Shirley Job; Theo was having enough trouble working up the energy to call her own fiancée.

Eventually, she forced herself to send a message. _Update: Steve is alive and in our custody. Will be home tomorrow._

She’d barely put the phone down before Trish’s reply came through. _Thank god! U all ok? Xx_

What a complicated question. Theo decided to go for honesty. _Unclear._

_You wanna talk? x_

Theo groaned and rubbed her eyes. She wished she still had those crappy gloves; maybe they’d sell some at the gas station. _Cant right now,_ she lied. _Call u later._

_Okay, ill be here. love you xxxx_

_You too x_

With that job done, Theo rested her head against the window and closed her eyes. Part of her wanted to sleep for a thousand years and never talk to anyone again. Self-imposed isolation was always her best coping mechanism. And yet, buried underneath all that, something was pulling her insistently back to the motel, where her brothers and sister(s?) waited for her to come back. It was the same feeling that had kept her living in Shirley’s guest house, quietly desperate to preserve the one good connection she had left.

Theo had never been good at helping the people closest to her. It too personal, too painful; Luke and Nell had taught her that. Ally had made her want to try, but it was so hard. Strangers were easier.

Now Steve (the eldest, the furthest, the one she never had to worry about) was shying away from peoples touch and trying to shield himself from all the painful sensations of the world. It was so familiar that it terrified her. Theo didn’t know what to do.

Well. She couldn’t stay here all day. Inhaling sharply, Theo switched the engine back on and pulled out onto the road. When she got back, there would be questions she couldn’t answer and help she couldn’t provide. Right now, she could bring the food and the drink, and pretend that it would fix anything.

_

Luke felt empty. It was an unsettling sensation. His thoughts ricocheted around the walls of his skull, keeping him awake despite how tired and drained he was. He couldn’t remember feeling so alone inside his own head.

Back at the Quells’ house, Nell had been a raging presence in his mind, so vibrant and tangible that it was as if she’d come back to life. Until she lashed out at Alanna Quell, that is, drawing on all the darkness and fury within their heads and throwing it at the woman until she’d crumpled. In that moment, Nell had been beyond life and death, and so had Luke. It had been terrifying, but also kind of liberating. It was the first time he could remember not being afraid, even if it was just for a second.

Now that the danger was over, Nell had all but disappeared, leaving Luke alone, exhausted, and once again afraid. Specifically, he was afraid for Steve. Exactly what his brother had been through, Luke had no idea, but he suspected it might be a very rushed version of the slow mental breakdown that Luke had been experiencing for the past twenty-seven years of his life.

Steve’s denial had always been his biggest protection. Now that that was gone, Luke dreaded to think what he might try and replace it with.

“What do we do now?” he whispered, watching Steve twitch and mutter restlessly in his sleep.

There was no answer. Luke hadn’t really expected one. Nell had retreated to someplace he couldn’t reach, could barely even feel. He couldn’t blame her, even if it left him feeling adrift. There were dark pieces of her soul that she never liked to show him – the Bent-Neck Lady, the vengeful spirit, the sad, weak little girl who lashed out at the people she loved – and she _never_ wanted the others to see that. He got the sense that she was feeling ashamed.

“It’s okay,” he said, just so she knew. “All you did was save us. Again. The others will understand.”

Again, there was no response. Not even a reassuring brush against his mind. Luke shrugged off his discomfort; she’d come back soon. She always did.

Steve made a noise in his sleep and curled up a little tighter. He was shivering, even though the room wasn’t that cold. Luke pulled the duvet off his own bed and draped it over Steve, one more layer of protection against the world. He then went over to the window and lit a cigarette, making sure to blow the smoke outside. Steve hated the smell of nicotine.

Luke didn’t know what to do or how to help, but he could at least keep a vigil.

_

The hours passed. In her own room, Shirley dozed off. Luke fell into a daze-like trance, and Theo wandered the neon isles of a supermarket, pulling random items into her basket without considering whether they were an optimal use of her sister’s money. Twilight fell. In his motel bed, Steve tossed and turned, tying himself up in the bedsheets. Eventually, whatever raged inside his head spilled over into the real world, and a noise of fear escaped him.

Luke was alert in a second, rushing to his brother’s bedside. Here, he stopped, hovering uselessly over him. He still didn’t know exactly how Theo’s abilities worked, but she really didn’t like being touched unexpectedly. He could only assume that Steve would be the same.

While he deliberated on whether or not to wake him, Steve’s arm lashed out and his knocked his glasses off the bedside table. Luke hurried to scoop them up.

Shirley burst into the room. Her hair was dishevelled and she still looked half-asleep. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

“It’s just a nightmare,” he told her. “I think.”

“So wake him up!”

“How?” he demanded.

Before Shirley could answer, Steve’s eyes snapped open and he jerked to a sitting position. He gasped, his eyes wide and unseeing.

Luke leaned forward, bracing his weight on the edge of the bed. “Steve?”

His head snapped sideways to look at him. He then hunched forward, exhaling. “Fuck.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

Luke was getting really fucking tired of people pretending they were okay when they clearly weren’t. Specifically, he was tired of Steve pretending. Still, he didn’t say anything, just wordlessly handed him his glasses back. Steve took them, muttering a thank you under his breath.

Shirley cleared her throat. “Theo’s just texted. She’s five minutes away with pizza.”

Steve’s face twisted. “I’m not really hungry …”

“It wasn’t a negotiable statement, Steve.”

He sighed. “Right.”

“Take a shower or something. Food’s in our room.”

Once she left, Luke sat back down on his own bed and watched Steve heave himself to his feetlooking like every movement hurt. “You wanna talk about it?”

“What?”

“Whatever you were just dreaming about.”

Steve scoffed. “No, not really.” He pressed a hand to his forehead, wincing.

“Headache?”

“Kind of my natural state of being at this point,” Steve admitted, then looked embarrassed. “I’ll meet you in the girls’ room.”

Luke knew that he was being politely told to fuck off, but he chose to remain oblivious. Maybe his hovering was unwanted or even unhelpful, but there was a persistent fear in his mind that Steve would somehow hurt himself, or disappear altogether, if he was left alone for any period of time. So Luke went back to the window and lit himself another cigarette. “I’ll go once I’ve finished this.”

“Luke, you can’t smoke in here,” Steve said.

“Can you smell it?”

“No, but –”

“It’s been a long day, man,” Luke said, quietly stubborn.

His brother sighed and threw his arms up. “Fine, whatever. I’m gonna take a shower.”

He slammed the door to the bathroom shut on his way in, and Luke tipped his head back against the window, sighing. It was going to be a long night. He wished Nellie was with him right now.


	18. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit like the 'Two Storms' part of the story (minus the stellar camera work), in that everyone is just very angry and confused and can't cope with it at all. Be prepared for lots of pointless arguments, because hey, we love our idiot children.
> 
> Regular readers might have noticed that I've gone back and names all of the chapters. I also fixed up some typos and other errors in earlier chapter (i.e. Theo not drinking water while she was drunk when we SAW HER DO THAT in an episode, ffs Specs). Thanks always to people who take the time to leave Kudos and comments :)

When Theo felt that she'd procrastinated long enough and arrived back at the motel, night had just about fallen. She hauled herself out of the car, loaded with bags and pizza boxes, and made her way across the parking lot, trying not to drop anything. Despite her best efforts, a bag of chips escaped her and plopped into a puddle. She swore and bent down to pick it up.

Something pricked at the corners of her awareness, and she glanced up. The lot was empty, but she had the distinct sense that she was being watched. One of the overhead streetlamps flickered ominously. Slowly, she leaned back down to grab the chips.

When she straightened up, Theo came face to face with a young man. She let out a short yell and took a step back. The man – more of a boy really – had a deathly pale face and sunken eyes. He could well have been a junkie hanging around the motel, but Theo knew better.

“Ho-oh, okay,” she said faintly. “Hello.”

The boy said nothing. His arms hung limply by his side, and his threadbare hoodie was perfectly still despite the light breeze. Theo hadn’t seen many ghosts in her lifetime; that was more for Nellie or Luke, or even Steve, despite what he claimed. The things she saw were tied deeply to other people – a memory, a regret, or a fear. The exceptions had always been family; Nellie in the Red Room, or Old Man Quell in the lake house, not to mention his own ghosts and memories. But if Steve could make things jump around the room, then maybe they were all capable of evolving. What a fucking treat.

This fellow was totally unfamiliar to her, so she could only assume the poor bastard had died here. Since he didn’t look like something that wanted to attack her, Theo steeled herself and said, “Can I help you?”

He opened his mouth, and an inhuman sound escaped him. It was quiet, like a gasp, but it sent shivers down her spine. In spite of herself, Theo took a step back.

“I cannot deal with this right now,” she muttered. “Look. I’d love to help, but I don’t understand you. Can you tell me what you need?”

He just stared at her helplessly. Theo’s hand twitched; she knew better than to reach out for him, but part of her really did want to help. Maybe it was because he reminded her of Luke.

Then, as suddenly as he’d appeared, he was gone. Theo exhaled sharply, feeling both relieved and uneasy. After waiting a moment to make sure nothing else popped out from the shadows to scare her, she finished making her way back across the lot.

The motel room was warm inside, and all three of her siblings were present. Theo allowed herself a moment to bask in the relief, looking over them all. Steve was sitting on her bed, while Luke sat on the floor beside him, his back up against the mattress. Neither of them looked particularly well-rested, but Steve’s hair was still damp from a shower, so that was something. For a second, she considered telling them about the ghost outside. Then she immediately discarded the idea. It hadn’t seemed harmful, and they had enough to worry about for now. “Boys,” she greeted, dumping all her wares on the tiny table in their room.

“Wow, Theo,” Shirley said, eyeing all the bags and boxes critically. “Are there looters out or something?”

“You’re welcome.” She handed Steve a bottle of painkillers, along with a beer and one of the pizza boxes. “These were in your car. I thought you might want them back.”

“Thank you,” he said with feeling, immediately swallowing a couple of them with his beer.

“What are those for, anyway? Shirley said, eyeing the bottle with concern.

He rolled his eyes. “Just headaches.”

“Headaches?”

“Well. Migraines.”

Theo fell into the little chair that sat in the corner of the room. It was uncomfortable, but then so were the beds. It was a wonder Steve hadn't complained about the departure from his usual standards, but then, compared to the Quell's Crazy Palace, this probably felt like luxury. “How long have you been having migraines?”

He shrugged, avoiding their gazes. “Few months, I guess. They got worse when I got here.”

“When you met those people, you mean?” Shirley prodded.

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

Shirley pursed her lips, looking both worried and impatient. “Steve, you need to tell us exactly what happened.”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “I don’t know if I can do that. The last few days are kind of a blur.”

“Start at the beginning,” Theo instructed. She’d been right; Steve was already trying to weasel out of the conversation. “When did you first meet them?”

He rubbed his head, thinking. “What day is it?”

They exchanged a concerned glance. “Sunday.”

“Still?” he said, looking alarmed.

“Okay, you’re really worrying me,” Shirley said.

“No, it’s fine. It’s just … been a long day. Week. Whatever.” He leaned back against the headboard. “So, I guess I got to Maine a few days ago. Thursday, maybe? First I contacted the woman who emailed me. That was a dead end. It took me a while to hear from the Quells themselves. It wasn't until after I went out to the lake house by myself that they finally returned my calls." He snorted. "Should have just taken the hint, I guess."

"So you went to the lake house," Theo said. "Did you get inside?"

He shook his head.

"Did you see anything while you were there?"

He frowned. "No, like what?"

"Oh, I don't know, a play-by-play rehash of our grandparents getting abused by their dad?" she said sarcastically. "'Cause that would have told you all you needed to know about our family. It was enough for me and Luke."

"Wait, what?  _You_  went to the lake house?"

"Yeah," Luke said. "We were looking for you."

"Well, I barely spent two minutes there."

"And you really didn't see anything strange? Or feel it?" Theo pressed.

He folded his arms, a touch defensive. "No, not a thing. The gardener shooed me off before I could even get close."

Theo and Luke shared a confused look. "Gardener?"

"Yeah, the old guy with the overalls. I'm guessing he wasn't there when you, what, broke in?"

There was a rather long, awkward pause. "Um, Steve," Luke said.

"What?"

"That was definitely a ghost."

He made a face. "No, it wasn't."

"You're talking about an old guy in overalls, hanging around a property that hasn't been occupied in years, right? Creepy, angry-looking?" Theo said. He nodded cautiously. "Well, congratulations, you met Great-Grandpa Quell."

His face went through a series of strange expressions, like his brain was trying to reroute itself. Eventually, it landed on what Theo could only describe as 'resigned despair'. He knocked his head back against the wall and groaned. "Oh, fuck me."

"You really couldn't tell?"

"Not even slightly. Fuck," he muttered again. "No wonder dad said I was the last person who should be back at Hill House."

Shirley raised her eyebrows. "Dad said that?"

"Yeah, right before he ..." Steve's jaw snapped shut, as if he only just remembered who he was talking to.

"Before he what? Steve?" Shirley demanded.

"Just ... just before we went back there to get Luke. He seemed to think I was more vulnerable or something. I thought he full of it, but maybe he had a point." Steve glanced away. It couldn't have been more obvious that he was keeping things from them. Maybe all the secrets about the House and their dad that he'd been hoarding for the past year. Theo wanted to grab him by the throat and shake him until it all came spilling out.

For better or worse, Luke spoke up before they had a chance to demand answers. "The House tricked all of us," he told Steve. "I've been seeing ghosts since I was a kid, and it never made me any less vulnerable. The opposite, actually."

Steve inclined his head, acknowledging the point.

"But something's changed for you now, hasn't it?" Luke continued.

"What do you mean?"

"Well now you're seeing more, right? And ... feeling more."

He swallowed. "I don't know," Steve said, looking down at his gloved hands. "I don't know what's going on."

He lapsed back into silence. Theo almost got annoyed again, but something about his hunched, defensive posture took her back to when she was nine years old. She'd been constantly overwhelmed, irritated, and so very alone; until her mom had given her the gloves and told her about Grandma Mary, Theo had thought no one would ever understand what she was going through. It was partly because she was a middle child and partly because she'd been a sullen little bitch of a kid, but mostly, it was that she felt like such a freak. All her siblings were weird in their own way, but Theo's weirdness was visible and undeniable. Denying or ignoring it had not been an option; she just had to learn how to live with it, and that had taken years. She'd had to write her own language for the things she felt, make up her own rules, figure out where the boundaries had to be. It had been a long, hard and lonely path. Now Ally would probably have to walk that same path, but she had time, and people to love and support her. Her ability was a tiny seed, something simple and natural, and it would grow in its own time. Steve was another story. His ability had been born from trauma, a sudden, vicious reaction to whatever had happened to him in that fucking house. There was no time, no slow learning process; it was just  _there,_ and he just didn't have the language or experience to help him understand it.

Theo sighed and went to sit on the bed in front of him. "Is it as bad as it was before? At their place?"

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. It's faded."

"Because now you feel safe. Your brain's not in a state of hypervigilance."

Steve blinked. "If you say so.” He always looked perplexed when she started talking like a psychologist, as if he was watching a dog walk on its hind legs. Usually it pissed her off, but she let it slide it for the moment.

"So something in that house triggered it, just like Hill House triggered us."

He shook his head again. "Not like this. You –  _none_  of you reacted the way I did. I can't even describe it, I mean – the migraines, and the visions, and then the ... the ..." he threw his arms up wordlessly.

"Telekinesis?" Luke offered.

"Jesus,  _please_  don't call it that."

"Sorry. I don't know what the non-science fiction term is."

"Well, whatever it was – I dunno, but none of you were ever that messed up. Were you?" He looked at each of them desperately.

Shirley was shaking her head, but she stopped once Theo gave her a hard side-eye. She knew they were both thinking of the fight they'd had in Shirley's living room, when the walls had started banging. Maybe it had been a ghost. Or maybe they'd just fucking haunted themselves, like so many other times throughout their lives. Still, Shirley set her jaw. "No," she insisted. "Nothing like that."

Ignoring her sister, Theo told Steve, "It's possible and we might have done it and not realised. But I know someone who _did_ react badly.”

He frowned. “Who?”

“Mom,” she said simply. “I mean, think about it. She had the migraines, the weird visions - sometimes she did things no one could explain."

Steve swallowed. "Yeah," he said, "That's what I thought," and his voice was so hollow that it stopped Theo from saying anything else. The three of them just watched him for a moment as he struggled to continue. "You know, it's funny. I spent my whole life scared of turning out like her, because I thought she was sick, depressed, schizophrenic, whatever. Then it turned out dad was right all along, and so was Nell, and so were you, Luke ... I was relieved. I thought maybe I could be different after all." He laughed bitterly. "Turns out I was right to be worried, just for the wrong reasons."

"Steve," Shirley said gently. Then she bit her lip, as if unsure what say. Theo didn't know either.

Luke cleared his throat. "But it's not like that for you, Steve."

"Oh, isn't it?" he snapped. "Well I guess you're right, it's actually worse. Mom never broke any fucking windows when she had a manic episode."

"She did, actually, during that storm. Or maybe that was all of us, I don't know. Nell’s memories are kind of scattered. But Steve," he insisted, moving on before any of them could process the implications of that. "It wasn't all her. She was being manipulated by the House. Corrupted. She never had a chance, but it's not like that for you."

“It was today,” he admitted, as if it were a shameful secret. “It could be again. All it would take is one bad week.”

“We won’t let that happen,” Luke said immediately.

Steve opened his mouth and then shut it again. He looked down. “I appreciate that, but I knowing what I know, I just think it’s inevitable.”

“What are you talking about, Steve?” Shirley asked. Theo leaned forward, her heart rate picking up. This was it, she realised. The thing he didn’t want to say, the secrets he’d kept ever since Nell and Dad died.

“I can’t. I promised Dad.”

“For fuck’s sake, Steven,” Shirley snapped. “You hated Dad for _years_ because he didn’t tell you anything. You realise you’re doing the exact same thing to us, right?”

He clenched his jaw. “Dad had his reasons. I guess I know them a little better now.”

“So, what, that makes it okay?”

“No, Shirl!” he said, his voice raised. “Nothing about this is okay! It’s completely fucked up, but I just can’t explain everything!”

“Try,” Theo demanded.

“I can’t. Some things can’t be told, alright, they just have to be experienced.”

He looked like he barely believed what he was saying, but was damned committed to it nonetheless. He crossed his arms and glared at the corner of the room, shutting the conversation down. Shirley threw her hands up in exasperation, and Theo closed her eyes, striving for patience. They were getting so far off topic, but this had been growing between them for months, and maybe they couldn’t resolve anything until they could finally put it to rest.

“Steve,” Luke said lowly. “That’s fucking bullshit.”

Steve scoffed. “Of course you’d think that.”

“I know it.”

“Oh, right, I forgot you knew everything,” Steve said sarcastically. Even knowing he was deflecting, Theo couldn’t help but feel her hackles raise. “Why don’t you tell them, then? Tell them all the secrets of Hill House that Nellie’s been whispering in your ear. Hell, why don’t you bring her out and let her tell it herself?”

“She’s not here right now.”

“How convenient.”

“Fuck off, Steve. She’s already saved your ass more than once today. Isn’t that enough?”

Steve looked like he'd been slapped. He groaned and put his head in his hands. “No, okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. I know we wouldn’t be here if she didn’t … you know … do what she did.”

“We wouldn’t be here if Dad didn’t do what he did, either,” Luke said quietly.

“What the fuck is he talking about?” Shirley demanded.

Steve clenched his jaw and swallowed. “I wish I didn’t know.”

“Tough shit,” Theo said, glaring at both of her brothers. “You do know, so tell us anyway.”

Steve clenched his fists, probably to keep them from trembling. Theo held her breath, waiting for him to break. “Fine. Fine. You want to know what Dad did? He killed himself. To get us out of the Red Room.”

They stared at him in shock. “What?” Shirley said “How … the coroner’s report said …”

“Heart failure, yeah. From overdosing on his fucking meds.” He smiled bitterly, tears in his eyes. “Another Crain suicide, courtesy of Hill House.”

There was a brief, awful silence. “Wait, so, did you watch him do this?” Shirley demanded, her voice rising to a near-hysterical pitch. “Once we took Luke to the hospital and Dad made you stay behind, you watched while he … he …”

“No!” he snapped. “He did it before the door opened. He was dead that whole time.”

Theo was still for a moment, processing that. Then stood up and kicked the chair, hating him, hating Dad, hating fucking everyone in that moment. “Unbelievable,” she spat. “After everything we’ve been through, he went and did that? Fucking _asshole_.”

“He felt like he had no choice,” Luke mumbled.

Theo whirled on him. “And you knew, too! What the fuck, Luke?”

He looked away, ashamed. “Only because Nellie knew, and she couldn't tell me how or when.” He hesitated. “He did it because I was dying. I didn’t … if it wasn’t for me, he would have found some other way. There was just no time. I’m sorry.” He rested his head against his knees. “I’m so sorry _._ ”

Steve shook his head, his mouth pressed into a flat line. “He wanted to be with her. I think he jumped at the chance.”

Shirley had her hands pressed to her face, looking furious and wrecked in equal measure. “We should have burned it down,” she whispered. “The whole House. It needs to die.”

“No,” Steve said quickly. “I … I promised him I wouldn’t.”

“Fucking _why_?” Theo demanded.

As Steve haltingly told the story of the Dudleys, and Abigail, Theo’s horror slowly fell away to numbness. There were so many layers to uncover, like flakes of skin scabbed over a deep, infected wound. Even Luke looked horrified as he detailed the extent of their mom’s madness, the House’s power, all the souls trapped within its walls. Theo found herself wishing she could just shut it all out. Dad had his reasons, indeed. But there was no going back now. Steve had been holding onto the truth, horrible as it was, for almost a year now and it had driven him further away from them, and now here they were. If they were ever going to recover from this, they had to know everything.

“He wanted us to remember Mom as she was,” Steve finished. “Not as … what the House made her. That was why he never told.”

“Yeah, good job, Dad,” Shirley spat. “Fantastic. And you thought, what, that would be a great way to continue to family legacy, huh?”

“I wanted to protect you,” he said helplessly. “After years of being such a shitty brother, I thought it was the least I could do.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” she said, her dark eyes flashing. “You know what, you are so full of shit, Steve! This was never about protecting us, it was about your pride.” The air in the room seemed to swell, growing hot and tense. The sensation made Theo pause, distracted from her own fury. The last time she’d seen Shirley this angry, she’d ended up getting punched in the boob. She had the feeling that the consequences could be much worse now.

“My _pride_?” Steve demanded, standing up to face her. Luke scurried back out of his way. “Yeah, wow, good insight there. I'm so fucking _proud_ of being responsible for all this bullshit!"

“You could have told us about it! You can’t just act like you know what’s best for everyone, okay? You don’t!”

“You don’t think I’m wildly aware of that? I had a whole night tied to a bed in some basement to reflect on how much I don’t know, okay? I’m a fucking expert at it!”

Shirley froze, confusion breaking through her anger. “Tied to a bed? What?”

Steve went pale as he realised what he’d just blurted out. “Nothing, forget it.”

“They tied you up in the basement?!” Now Shirley was shrieking for another reason entirely.

“Just for one night. It wasn’t a big deal, it’s just that I was breaking everything and I …” he broke off and bent double, holding his head. “Fuck!”

Shirley stared at him wordlessly, her mouth hanging open. Theo scanned the room warily, waiting for the window to crack or the pizza to go flying. But nothing happened, except Steve's gasps of pain grew louder. Shaking herself, Theo darted forward and placed herself between them. “Okay, let’s just get a grip now, shall we?” she said, pushing Steve lightly so he could sit back on the bed. He immediately curled up on his side. “Steve? What do you need?”

“Lights,” he ground out.

Luke immediately rushed to turn them off. For a long moment, they all fell silent in the darkness of the room, listening to Steve’s ragged breathing. Theo again cast her eyes around the room, looking for any signs of rattling or breakage. But again, there was no outward sign of Steve's meltdown. Slowly, the tension left the room. Shirley sat heavily on the other bed, sniffling. Theo leaned back against the wall and blew out a breath. A minute ticked by, blissfully silent.

“I’m sorry,” Shirley whispered into the darkness. “It’s all just so fucked up.”

After a moment, she heard Steve sigh. “Yeah. I know, I’m sorry, too.”

She wiped her eyes and took out her phone, squinting at the bright screen. “It’s getting late. We should sleep.” She glanced up at Steve. “Do you want to call Leigh?”

There was a long, conspicuous pause. Then, to Theo’s horror, the sound of choked sobs filled the tiny room.

_

Once Steve had fallen back asleep, Luke slunk out of the room for a smoke, and Shirley had gone to the boys’ room so she could call her family, Theo let herself outside. After hours cooped up in the cramped motel room, which smelled like pizza and still felt thick with resentment, it was a relief. The rain had stopped, and all was quiet. Theo wrapped her arms around herself, exhaling clouds of hot air into the cold night.

She spotted Luke sitting on the curb. For a moment, she considered ignoring him, or walking in the opposite direction. But his slumped, defeated posture gave her pause, and truly, she didn’t want to be alone right now.

“Hey,” he said as she approached.

“Hey.” She stood beside him, looking out at the shadows of the parking lot. “That could have gone better.

He snorted. “You expect any different?”

“No. Doesn’t mean I can’t find room to be disappointed.” She glanced at the cigarette dangling from his fingers, the end glowing dull red. “Give me that.”

He passed it up to her. “Thought you didn’t smoke.”

She blew out a thin stream of nicotine. “I don’t.”

“Oh. Okay.”

They shared each other’s company in silence for a while, passing the cigarette back and forth until it burned out. Theo crushed it beneath the toe of her boot.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Mom and Dad,” Luke said dully. “Nell didn’t want me to know either. She tried to tuck it away, but I felt it anyway. When Mom threw her from the stairs. She didn’t want me to hate her, and I felt like shit because of Dad. So I pretended I didn’t see.”

Theo tipped her head back and glared at the sky, feeling drained.

“I’ve been running away from the truth my whole life,” he continued. “It was too fucking easy to run away from that, too.”

“Yeah, you’re an Olympian.” She knocked her leg gently against him. Verbal forgiveness was too much for her right now, but she wasn’t going to shut him out completely. “Me too.”

His mouth twitched in a smile.

Something wavered in the shadows. A face flickered in the darkness, illuminated by the harsh lamplight. Theo and Luke stared out at the empty space, solemn and alert. “There’s a ghost out there,” he told her.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You should have said something.”

She scoffed. “Like we needed another distraction. I don’t think it wants to hurt us. Do you?”

He shook his head.

“What does Nell think?”

“I don’t know. She’s not really around right now.” He hunched forward a little further, and her heart went out to him. He’d acted so calm and stable all night.

“She’ll come back though, right?”

He lit up another cigarette and stared out at the not-so-empty darkness. “Sure.”

They fell silent, keeping watch over the cold night while their older siblings stayed safe inside.


	19. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who still reads and enjoys this! My favourite comment was the theory that the Parking Lot Ghost was actually Jack Frost - awesome theory, and now I'm sad that it's not the case XD

_In the basement, all the lights were out. He wanted to reach out and touch the walls, the floor, the ceiling, search out some kind of stability, but he couldn’t. He was bound to the blood-soaked bed, his mouth taped shut. There were things moving around him, circling like predators. They whispered and prayed and sang to him. Someone was crying down the hall – Nellie or Luke, maybe – and he should go to them, because he was the eldest and he had to protect them. But he was just as helpless._

_“Useless,” Emma’s voice said scornfully. She emerged from the dark, her arms dripping with blood. “You can’t help anyone.”_

_She disappeared, leaving him alone once more. All the sounds faded away, and that was somehow worse. He couldn’t see or speak or move or hear or see. He was just floating in a big, wide ocean of nothing._

_A cool kiss pressed against his forehead. “Hush, my love,” his mother said. “It’s all going to be alright.”_

_She gave him a hard, sudden push and he fell. His vision was filled with bright, spinning lights._

Steve shot up in bed, gasping. For a split second, he thought he was still asleep, for the room was dark and he was alone. Or perhaps he’d never left the Quells’ basement, and the last day or so had been some kind of desperate dream. But as his eyes adjusted to the streetlight filtering in from outside, and his sisters’ clutter strewn around the room, he realised that wasn’t true. He really had left that place. Steve felt relief sink in, bone-deep and intoxicating.

The dream still lingered, though. He swung himself off the bed off the bed, just to distance himself from the feeling of being tied down. The world rocked to one side, making him feel slightly nauseous. That could have been the whiskey, the migraine, or whatever the fuck else was going on with his head; Steve didn’t know anymore.

He was still tired, but there was no way he could go back to sleep. Usually when he couldn’t sleep, he would write. It struck Steve, suddenly, that there was nothing stopping him from doing just that. He could walk out the door, grab his laptop from the car, and do whatever he wanted with it. The thought felt foreign, and somehow forbidden; how strange, that he’d fallen so easily into the role of a child who let other, less damaged people make all the decisions. He wondered if this was how Nell had felt, going back to Hill House before it had eaten her alive. Maybe she’d felt that way her whole life.

Steve shook the thought away, ignoring the old echoes of grief and guilt, and made his way clumsily towards the door. Theo had left his car keys on the table, alongside bags, boxes, and other bits of rubbish. Steve wondered where she and the others were. Avoiding him, probably. That was fine, he was used to that. But he felt the need to see them, nonetheless, make sure they were solid and alive and not disappearing into the void anytime soon. Maybe once he did that, the fear in his stomach would finally settle.

Steve knew better than to assume their latest fight meant that they’d never talk to each other again. On a Crain Scale, it barely ranked in the top five. And he hadn’t broken anything this time, despite feeling like his head was going to explode at one point. Still, he was so fucking sick of the fights. All Dad had wanted was for them to be kind to each other, but they were so _bad_ at it, and Steve worried that they’d never learn how to be better.

But. They’d come to get him. And they were still here. That had to count for something.

_Fight with love,_ Dad had advised, shortly before killing himself to preserve his own love. Steve had never managed that with Leigh, but maybe he could at least get there with Shirl, Theo and Luke. There would be no more secrets, nor more months of silence and resentment. He’d figure this shit out, and then he’d do better. He owed them that much.

Feeling slightly steadier, Steve grabbed his keys and opened the door. The cold air hit him like a freight train. Steve winced as he let himself outside, shivering slightly. He glanced around the motel parking lot, but no one was around.

He walked briskly towards the rental car and fumbled to open the trunk, where all his electronics were stowed. He grabbed his laptop bag, along with his phone charger and a notebook. Equipment in hand, he slammed the trunk shut and turned around.

A boy stood before him, barely three feet away. Steve jumped backwards, his heart pounding. “Jesus _Christ._ ”

The boy narrowed his eyes and tilted his head at him, looking faintly amused. He had the classic junkie look – thin, hollow-eyed, and hungry. A thin line of pinpricks ran up his arm, disappearing into the sleeve of his jacket. “Hey,” he said, as if they were old friends catching up at the bar. “Can you help me?”

Steve gave him a resigned, apologetic look. “Sorry, I don’t have any cash on me.”

The boy didn’t say anything else, and Steve already knew how the rest of this mugging would go. He’d demand the laptop and the car keys, then either take off with the rental or simply loot it. Steve was an expert at amiable robberies; his experiences with Luke, not to mention all the people he came across while searching for Luke, had taught him well. It was terrible timing, but hell, the universe had a very specific sense of humour these days.

The boy took a step forward, holding his arms out. “Help me,” he demanded.

Steve sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, but I just don’t …” he trailed off, looking into the kid’s shadowed blue eyes. “Do I know you?”

The boy said nothing, and Steve found himself taking a step closer. He could have sworn that he’d seen this face before.

“Steve!” Luke’s voice shouted at him in alarm. Suddenly, he and Theo were there on either side of him, pulling him backwards. “Be careful!”

“What?” he said, glancing between them with bewilderment. “What is it?”

“He’s dead, Steven,” Theo snapped, keeping him back with one hand and using the other to keep the boy at a distance.

“What are you talking about? He’s not …” he glanced at the boy again, and his jaw fell open. This time, he saw that one side of the boy’s face was caved in, his hair was matted with blood, and his arm was hanging at a nauseating angle.

The young man looked back at Steve with his one good eye, opened his mouth, and screamed. For a split second, Steve felt a deep, nauseating swoop in his stomach and saw lights spinning in the distance. He stumbled backwards, and was dimly aware of the others doing the same. Then his vision cleared and he found that the boy had vanished.

The three of them stood frozen for a moment, staring at the empty space. Eventually, Theo exhaled and dropped her arms. “Fuck.”

With the immediate danger gone, Steve became hyper aware of Luke’s arm thrust over his chest. It didn’t feel overwhelmingly uncomfortable like before. If anything, it reminded him of Dad trying to stop him from running headfirst into Hill House. However, there was a thread of familiarity that ran across their shared contact, humming like electricity, that he’d felt when his siblings had come to get him from the Quells’ house. It didn’t hurt like; instead, for the first time since waking up, he finally felt stable.

“You okay?” Luke asked, looking at him.

Steve shoved the arm away, embarrassed. “Let’s just go back inside.”

He resisted the urge to look back at the parking lot as they went back to the room, but could feel eyes on him nonetheless. It sent a hard shiver down his spine.

“So,” Theo said, once the door to their room had been securely locked again. “Things aren’t so different for you after all, are they?”

Steve tossed his laptop bag on the bed and flopped down beside it. His sheets were still rumpled from before. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, you’ve still got the para-perceptive skills of a rock.”

“Para-perceptive?” he said incredulously.

She went slightly red. “It was in one of Trish’s books.”

Christ, there was some pseudo-scientific bullshit out there. Steve didn’t care how real ghosts and hauntings were, he wasn’t going to buy into it. “I don’t know what to tell you. He looked real. I mean, you know, physical and alive and all. He even sounded real.”

“Wait, he spoke to you?”

“Yeah.”

“With words?” Theo said.

He huffed. “No, with interpretive dance.”

“I think he tried to talk to me, too,” Theo said, ignoring him. She looked oddly contemplative. “I just couldn’t understand him. I wonder …”

“Do we have to do this now?” he asked wearily. “Haven’t we yelled at each other enough for one night?”

She pressed her lips together. “I'm not trying to start a fight. I want to figure out what the fuck is happening.”

“Really?” he asked. In all the years he’d known Theo, she’d never wanted to discuss anything with him, much less anything related to her abilities. She’d tried to tell him about it once, when they were young and grieving, and he’d scoffed at her. Ever since then, she’d shut him out. He couldn’t even remember the last time they’d been alone in a room together. “Since when?”

“Since you started acting like a Steven King character, Steven,” she said, irritated.

“Funny.”

Perhaps sensing the tension in the room and wanting to avoid a repeated escalation, Luke said, “Hey, is this our room now?”

“Sure, whatever,” Theo said dispassionately, pouring herself another glass of whiskey. She offered the bottle to Steve, but he declined. It really wasn’t helping the situation. “I think Shirl’s passed out in the other one. You wanna go to sleep?”

Luke snorted. “Don’t think I could if I tried.”

“Same. Steve?”

He shrugged. He’d already slept for most of the afternoon and night, but still felt exhausted. Another few hours probably wouldn’t change that. Besides, his last nightmare still lurked at the edges of his consciousness, and he didn’t think that the incident with the kid in the parking lot would help.  He frowned out the window, trying to remember exactly what had happened. “Did either of you see anything? When he screamed?”

“Like what?” Theo said sharply.

“I don’t know. It was more a feeling, I guess. Like I was falling. And there were all these … lights.”

“Mm, nope. Nothing like that,” Theo said.

Luke shook his head. "I didn't even hear him scream."

Steve's heart sank. “Great. So first I can’t see that it’s dead until you tell me it’s dead, and then I see too much?” he said incredulously. “Where’s the sense in that?”

“I don’t think ghosts make much sense,” Luke said.

“I don’t think I do, either.”

They lapsed into silence for a bit, equally lost at where to go from here. Theo tapped her index finger against the glass of whiskey, thinking about it. Eventually, she said, “Maybe you’re just so hypersensitive that your mind kind of shuts it out as a first defence. Or internalises it, so you don’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

“Why? How is that useful?”

“Well, look what happened to Mom,” she pointed out. “Without some kind of defence mechanism, maybe you wouldn’t have survived Hill House either.”

Steve thought about that for a moment, the realisation sinking into his veins like ice. He wondered how many times death had lurked just over his shoulder, or been right in front of his face, and he just hadn’t seen it. Then he thought of little Nellie, six years old and staring at her own hanging corpse, and felt ashamed for an entirely different reason. “Why me? Why not the rest of you?”

She shrugged. “Maybe it’s ‘cause you were older.”

“Or your abilities are stronger,” Luke suggested.

He scoffed. “I’m not strong. You’re stronger than me, Luke. You and Nellie, you’ve dealt with this your whole life without being able to shut it out.”

“Uh, yeah,” he said drolly. “And I’m a heroin addict.”

Steve blinked. “Well. Yeah. But …”

“And Nellie’s dead.”

“I _know_ that. Still …”

Luke was looking annoyed now. “Stop comparing us. It was shit for everyone no matter what. And I know you got to a bad place when you were with those people - don't argue, okay, I _know_ -but you’re still here, and not all of us can say that.”

Steve swallowed and looked away. He remembered looking at the broken ceramic shards on the floor and just wishing it was all over. It had been bad enough that Nellie had known that, but it hurt more, somehow, for Luke to know as well.

“Did they really tie you up in the basement?” Theo asked tiredly.

He sighed. He really wished they could have avoided that conversation entirely, but he knew his siblings better than that. “Just the first night. Honestly, they didn’t have a lot of choice; I was having something of a catastrophic meltdown, you might say.”

“But they caused that too, right?”

“I guess so. I’m still not sure exactly _what_ caused it. It might have even been building up before that, from stress or guilt or whatever.”

“Maybe,” Theo acknowledged “But things got pretty stressful in here before, and I didn’t see any signs of paranormal activity then. Not even when Shirl was going off her nut.”

“Well, no. But that was different. Even when we were fighting, I still felt …” _safe_ , his brain finished, but Steve didn’t want to say that out loud. He cleared his throat. “I mean, we’ve always yelled at each other. I’m pretty used to that.”

“Fair. So it sounds to me like you’re not likely to be triggered by us going home tomorrow, right?”

Steve paused, his mouth left hanging open as he realised she'd backed him into a corner. His first instinct was to shy away from the idea, because something about it – re-entering society, being around Shirley’s family, and figuring out what the fuck he was supposed to do next – seemed like a series of impossible feats that he just didn’t have the strength for. “I don’t know if that’s the smartest thing right now,” he said, quite reasonably. “Given that I still have no idea what’s really wrong with me and, oh, we’re apparently being haunted by something else.”

“Steve,” Luke interrupted quietly. “You can’t stay in this motel forever.”

“I know that,” he snapped, more waspishly than he’d intended. He hadn’t been able to stay in the Quells’ bathroom forever either, but this was different. That had been a prison. This was more like an island – a dirty, concrete covered island in an ocean of madness. He just wanted to withdraw from the world for a while and not interact with anyone except Luke, Theo and Shirley – the ones who knew him best and had no higher expectations of him.

“What would help?” Theo asked, and it was such an un-Theodora-like question that Steve knew she had to have pulled it from her psychology script. But it did make him stop and think.

“Emma,” he eventually said quietly. “I think … she was the main thing. The trigger. I can’t stand the thought of doing nothing while she’s still stuck there.”

She nodded. “I’ll put in a call to Child Services tomorrow. I know a guy. It’s no guarantee, but he knows I’m usually right about these things. It’ll help to have as much information as possible, though.” She fixed him with a serious look. “A police report would help.”

“No,” he said immediately.

“Steve …”

“I can’t,” he said. Images of his dad talking to police, growling at reporters, and feebly trying to argue in court flashed through his mind. Maybe he could commit to no more secrets with his family but he didn’t, for one second, trust the rest of the world with the truth. Even a half-truth, the bare bones of his experiences, wouldn’t be enough. They’d push for more, and he wouldn’t be able to give it. At best, he’d be laughed out of the police precinct. Worst case scenario, it would trigger another meltdown. “I just can’t, Theo.”

She pursed her lips. “Fine. Then I’ll do what I can, I guess.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Don’t thank me yet. I might still decide to go back and burn their little McMansion to the ground.” She drained the rest of her whiskey and then stared down into the last dregs “I know Emma’s a child and you’re right to be worried about her, but what happened to you was not okay, either.”

He swallowed a lump of shame in his throat. “I could have left.”

“Maybe, but you weren’t in a good place, and that bitch knew it. I hope Nell gave her a heart attack.”

Steve laughed, and only felt slightly guilty about it. “At least you got to punch John.”

“Small victories. It did feel good, though.” She stood up and stretched. “I’d better go check on Shirl. You boys gonna be okay for the night?”

Luke made a noise of assent and Steve nodded. She hesitated on her way out the door, and he got the impression that she wanted to make some kind of contact – a hug, perhaps, or a hand on the shoulder. Ultimately, she stayed where she was and Steve was left feeling both relieved and disappointed. “Okay, night. Yell out if any more ghosts appear, or whatever.”

Once she’d left, Luke mumbled his own goodnights and rolled over, presumably going straight to sleep. It had been a very long time since Steve had shared a room with his brother. He’d forgotten how quietly he slept, as if part of him was constantly afraid that the slightest noise would alert the monsters under his bed. Steve watched him for a few minutes, feeling a strong surge of fondness and wistfulness. Somehow without him realising it, Luke had developed into this person who was so often unsure and fragile, yet incredibly stubborn and protective when it counted. Steve supposed this might have been how their dad had felt when looking at the adult children he didn’t get the chance to raise.

Steve tried to type for a while, tapping away as quietly as he could. The story, such as it was, looked like a complete mess. Aside from all the drunken typos and grammatical sins, he barely understood what he was even trying to say. But the words still escaped him, taking on some kind of shape as they fell across the page, and as they did, he felt some of the tension in his body start to drain.

He didn’t even feel himself falling back asleep.

_

_I am home. Now, to climb_.

_She followed her mother and brother up the wrought iron stairs in the library, feeling light-headed from happiness. At the top, she looked back down at her husband, returning his gaze of adoration. She felt like she must be dreaming, but none of her dreams had ever been so sweet. Then her fingers tightened around the rough strands of rope in her hands. Doubt pressed against the corner of her mind, but her mother was here and it was fine, she was fine, she was home, she was exactly where she was supposed to be …_

_He was standing up high, on the edge of a cold night, looking out over the city lights. It was kind of pretty. His sister had always liked the view from up here. The thought of his sister made guilt bloom in his chest, so he pushed it away. He spent so much of his life sleepwalking, drifting from dark basements to crowded rooms. It was an endless, numb cycle, broken up by bursts of pain and hurt and rage. He’d thought leaving home would be an escape, but the numbness had just followed. Nothing felt real. Nothing ever would. He just wanted to wake up …_

_A step to the edge was taken, followed by a jump or a push, but it didn’t matter which. What mattered was the fall; the rush of air and the breathless swoop, and in the space between the leap and the crash, it almost felt like an awakening._

For the second time that night, Steve woke with a gasp. The impact of the fall still rattled through his body, and blood was still rushing in his ears. Everything felt broken – his neck, his spine, and everything inside. He couldn’t move. His body was tangled in the sheets, trapping him in the dark. He struggled to free himself but that just seemed to make it worse. In panic, he cried out.

Dimly, he was aware of someone holding his arm and trying to pull the bindings away. As soon as he was able to, Steve lurched upright.

Luke was sitting beside him, his hands hovering, trying to steady him without touching too much. Footsteps thundered into the room, but it was just Theo and Shirley, demanding to know what the problem was. Steve wanted to tell them all to go back to sleep and start worrying. He very nearly did, but a phantom noose was still thrown around his neck, cutting off his words.

In the deep shadows of his room, he saw his mother’s silhouette. She hadn’t appeared to him since he’d left the Quells. At the sight of her, Steve felt the noose tighten and black spots popped along the edge of his vision as he struggled to breath.

He felt adrift, tossed about in a void of foreign memories and his own nightmares, unable to tell the difference anymore. He wasn’t big enough to contain them all. Even now, he could feel them slipping out, making the room shudder and rock. He waited for he others to back away in alarm, but they stayed where they were. He wondered if he was just imagining the chaos; somehow, that was even more terrifying than if was happening for real. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to shut it all out.

Steve felt a hand at his back and another on his face, first nervous, and then more firmly. _Shirl_ , he recognised instantly. Her touch burned brightly in his mind. It hurt, a little, but Steve felt it anchoring him back to the present, to this tiny motel room in the middle of nowhere, with people who were safe. Suddenly desperate for more, he lurched forward and grasped for the first warm body he could find. Luke froze for a second, then hesitantly wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders. Finally, Theo stepped forward and wrapped her hand around his wrist, steady and intent.

Shirley and Luke were both talking, trying to reassure him, but the words faded into the background. Steve was caught up in the sensation of their touch, warm and bright and more intimate than anything he’d let himself feel in years. Even with Leigh, his fear and guilt had made him withdraw long before she learned the truth. For just this moment, Steve let all his walls down.

Slowly, the rattling in the room stopped and he felt like he could breathe again. When he cracked his eyes open, he saw that his mother’s image was no longer there. Instead, Nell stood over them, much like she had in the Red Room. She smiled at him for a moment before disappearing as well.

That was fine. Steve wasn’t afraid anymore.


	20. Journeys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick update this time around! I really wanted to have something posted on my birthday, so I powered through this one haha. I also wonder if last chapter hadn't been quite as good as some of the others, which would make sense since it was bloody hard to get through! Concrit and suggestions would appreciated.
> 
> Thanks always, and enjoy :)

When Luke next woke up, he was on the floor of the motel room, with gray, pre-dawn light filtering in through the shutters. Looking around, he saw that Theo had one of the beds, while Steve and Shirley were crammed onto the other. Steve appeared to finally be sleeping soundly, which was a relief.

For a split second, Luke considered climbing into Theo’s bed – he was cold, still tired, and she was snoring loudly enough for him to probably get in a couple more hours before she woke up and tried to kill him. But then he woke up a little more and decided it was too mortifying to consider. Instead, he grabbed her wallet and headed out to the room in search of a vending machine.

Outside, it was even colder. He tucked his arms in as he made his way around the front of the motel.

The corner of a white dress caught his peripheral, and he came to a sudden halt. Fear and hope thumped against the walls of his chest. Luke turned to the right and walked around the edge of the parking lot. He came around the back of the motel, into a corner that was shadowed from the dim light. Here, his courage wavered. He’d never chased after ghosts before – he always ran away from them. But this was a horror he knew well, and intimately. Taking a deep breath, counting sevens in his head, he began to creep forward.

He found her at the very end of the laneway, curled up against a corner of the building. “Nellie?” he said.

She glanced at him and then away. “You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

“I just followed you,” he said, approaching slowly. “Where have you been?”

Nell sniffed loudly. She was suddenly on her feet, pacing back and forth agitatedly. “I didn’t mean for you to see. You should stay away.”

“Is this about what happened at the Quell place? When we got Steve?” he asked.

“Not well,” she muttered.

Luke felt very distant from her right now, but there was a pang of shame in his chest, and he knew it belonged to her. “Nellie, it’s okay. You did what you – what we – had to do. Steve’s safe now. He’s fine.” That was something of an overstatement, but he decided to ignore that. “Why don’t you come talk to him? And Theo and Shirley? They miss you.” _I miss you_ , he thought, even though it had only been a couple of hours.

She shook her head and made a frustrated noise, tugging at the ends of her hair. “I can’t. I’m not here.”

“You are …”

“Not _here_ , Luke,” she insisted. “I got so angry that I shattered, and now I’m all these … these sharp little pieces. I’ll hurt them. I’ll hurt you.” She stopped pacing and just started flickering back and forth across Luke’s vision, making him feel dizzy. He could see her being pulled away by invisible hands, hidden by red doors and the barriers between life and death. Panic rose in his chest as she grew more and more distant.

“Nellie,” he said weakly. Then, with more conviction, “Nellie. Hey. Let me help. Tell me what to do.”

She paused then, standing still before him. She had her arms wrapped around her waist and her face was hidden by her hair. “I’m fine,” she said flatly. “I just need some time.”

“Time to what?” he demanded.

“To fix things. To get well again.”

He had a painful memory of sitting in her car in the pouring rain, so consumed by _need_ that he could barely see her. Maybe if he’d seen her then, they wouldn’t be here now. “Is it the kind of ‘well’ that actually makes things worse?” he asked warily, knowing that the memory was fresh in both their heads.

“No. Not like that. I just need to … convalesce.”

“And then you’ll come back?”

She hesitated before managing to look him in the eye. Her face was sunken and white. He ached to reassure her, but there were parts of him she didn’t want to see, and Luke knew she had good reasons. “I’ll come back.” She managed a tiny smile. “Not gone. Remember?”

His throat closed up. “I know. I wish I could help you, though.”

She gave him a considering look. “Help him,” she said decisively, and then disappeared.

_

They all woke up early, somehow, despite the lack of sleep. Shirley couldn’t speak for the others, but she was beyond ready to return home to her own little family, none of whom were haunted by demonic entities, at risk of suicide, or turning into Carrie White. At least, not as far as she was aware. The thought of going home gave her enough energy to rally the rest of her siblings into cleaning up and getting out of the crappy motel well before check-out time.

Their first stop was the airport, so Steve could return his rental car. He appeared to have accepted the idea of coming back to Boston with them, which was a relief for Shirley, because it meant she didn’t have to get into yet another argument about it. He was still quiet that morning, and kept avoiding eye contact, but she suspected that was because he was embarrassed about the nightmares. At any rate, he seemed far more settled in his own skin, and even managed an unsolicited remark about Theo’s refusal to call Trish, so he was obviously feeling more like himself.

“I’m just saying, I know she likes to check in every day,” he said as to Theo as they piled back into her car. “Even if it’s not important to you, it might mean the world to her.”

“So are you gonna call Leigh, then?” she shot back, slamming the back door shut behind her.

That shut him up rather quickly.

They drove in silence for about twenty minutes. Theo dozed off, while Luke stared out the window and Steve caught up on all the news and emails he’d missed for the past couple of days. At one point, he frowned at the screen and made an exasperated noise.

“What?” Shirley said.

He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “Nothing. I just forgot was supposed to be writing a book. My editor’s going ballistic.”

Shirley just barely managed to bite down on a snarky remark, but it must have shown in her face, because he hurried to say, “It’s fiction. I mean, completely fiction. No biographical elements whatsoever.”

“Oh. Like what you used to write?”

“Just as bad, yeah.”

She huffed a surprised laugh. “It wasn’t bad, Steve. It was just … underappreciated.”

He made a face. “Critically. Hence why … well, you know.”

They lapsed into another awkward silence. Shirley never talked to Steve about his writing anymore, precisely for this reason. When it wasn’t awkward, it was downright cataclysmic. Part of her wished she could move on from the whole thing – God only knew they had better things to fight over, these days – but that first, horrible strong of betrayal just wouldn’t leave, no matter how old it got. “Well. It’s good that you’re trying again.”

“Yeah.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what Leigh thought of it, since she was basically his live-in editor. Then she remembered him telling her about their last phone call and the general state of their marriage at the moment, and decided it would be bad to bring up Leigh at all. Then she thought _fuck it_ , and said, “So, I know things aren’t great with you and Leigh right now.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “You think?”

“But, I mean, it’s not the end of anything, right?”

“Oh my God,” he muttered. “You’re as bad as Dad.”

“What?” she demanded.

He shook his head. “Never mind. Look, Shirl, it’s bad. I don’t know how bad, exactly, but pretty fucking bad. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well maybe we should talk about, Steve!”

“Here? Now? Really?” he threw a glance at the back of the car, where Theo was doing a poor job of pretending she was still asleep. Luke still looked completely disengaged from reality, but who knew exactly what was going on in his head anyway.

Shirley sighed. “Okay, fine. I just. Look, Leigh’s a reasonable person. If you explain the kind of stress you were under, I’m sure she’d understand.”

“No,” he said flatly.

“No, what?”

“There is no way in hell I’m telling her what happened. Not all of it, anyway. And you can’t tell her either!”

“Steve, come on,” she said exasperatedly. “You don’t think your marriage could benefit from this whole ‘no more secrets’ rule?”

“Our marriage would benefit from a better husband,” he snapped. “And I just don’t have it in it me right now.”

She huffed. “Well now you’re just being dramatic.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk.”

Shirley swerved too hard into the other lane, jostling them. Theo had to catch herself on the window, muttering _“Fuck,”_ under her breath. Luke just let his head bounce off the glass without reaction. Shirley forced herself to calm down and take a deep breath. “Yeah, ok,” she said. “I’m dramatic. Histrionic. Fucking crazy, whatever.”

“I didn’t say that,” he said, looking chagrined.

“No, it’s true. I’m all those things. So maybe I know a bit about what the fuck I’m talking about, do you think?”

He gestured helplessly. “Yeah, but Kevin, I mean. He’s basically perfect. Your marriage is solid. Me and Leigh, it’s different.”

“Kevin isn’t perfect,” she snapped. “He’s human. He has his limits, same as anyone. It’s why I was so scared telling him what I …” She caught herself on a choked breath. Steve didn’t know. How could she forget that he didn’t know? In the back, Theo went stiff, and even Luke glanced up. Steve just frowned, waiting for her to finish. Shirley’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, and she forced herself to continue. “I was scared to tell him about the – um. My. My affair.”

Steve stared at her for a long moment, his eyes slowly growing wider. “Your _what_?”

“It was a one-night stand,” she said in a rush. “Years ago, at some – no, don’t look at them, they already know – some convention thing. The guy was married, too. I never looked him up, never did it again, never even _considered_ it, but … I never told Kevin, either.”

He sat back heavily in his seat. “Jesus, Shirl. I had no idea.”

“Yeah well, neither did anyone else, until last year. After what happened at Hill House, how it almost trapped me because of that one fucking night, I knew I had to. So, I told Kevin.”

“I’m guessing he took it better than expected?” he ventured to ask. At her sharp look, he threw his hands up placatingly. “I’m genuinely guessing here, okay? You’re right, I’m sorry, I have no real idea where your relationship’s at right now.”

She shook her head, staring out at the road unseeingly. “He was sad. Disappointed. Not angry, you know, it always hurts more when they don’t get angry. Worse for him, more than the affair, was that I never told him. He wondered what else I didn’t trust him with. What other secrets I was keeping.”

“And then you were like, ‘Hon, you’d better sit the fuck down for this next part’,” Theo muttered from the back. At Shirley’s glare, she shrank back in her seat. “Sorry.”

Shirley sighed. “So, there you have it. Perfect Shirley fucked up. But he did forgive me.” She snorted. “It almost made me mad, you know? I made it this whole big thing in my head, kept it locked away for years because I thought it would have to power to wreck us. But in the end, I was just wasting my time.”

He nodded slowly, absorbing it all. “Point taken.”

“Is it, though?” she said, looking at him. “I mean, come on, Steve. Leigh’s forgiven you for worse than some bad words said at a bad time.”

“A lot worse,” he agreed. “But the thing is … I wasn’t lying. I really don’t think I can have kids, and that’s not going to just go away.”

“No,” she said pointedly. “You said you didn’t _want_ kids. Not that you _couldn’t_. One’s a lie – you can apologise for it and move on. The other’s a belief, and if you want to change it, you can. At least give her the opportunity to work on it with you.”

He frowned again, absorbing that. The look on his face was troubled, but it wasn’t a flat-out refusal,  so that was progress as far as this conversation was going. Gentling her tone slightly, Shirley said, “Just think about it, okay? Take your time, stay with us for as long as you need, but don’t just shut it out, either. I tried that, okay? It doesn’t work.”

He shot her a weak, half-smile. “You’re right. Thanks, Shirl. For the offer, and all.”

“Of course I’m right,” she said decisively.

“And I … I’m sorry. About what happened.”

She snorted. “It wasn’t your fault. Not everything’s about you, Steve,” she said, glancing at him to make sure she was mostly teasing.

“Right. Of course,” he said, hiding a smile.

A more comfortable silence befell them once again, and Steve went back to looking at his phone, but she got the sense he wasn’t really paying attention.

Theo leaned forward suddenly. “That was intense. Can we can coffee?”

Shirley rolled her eyes. She really wanted to get home, but after dredging up all her old shame, part of her wanted to wait and let it settle in her stomach before she went home to her husband and family. “Sounds good.”

_

Theo took a long sip of her coffee, narrowing her eyes at Luke. He was sitting across from her in the booth at Starbucks, but looked a million miles away. He’d barely said a single thing all morning, ever since she’d woken up to the sound of him slamming their motel door shut. Even for his usual taciturn self, it was odd and concerning. Especially after he’d been so intent on being there for Steve for the last couple of days.

Theo hadn’t realised how much she’d grown used to having Luke present beside her, a watchful and reliable presence as they navigated all the crazy shit of the past few days. Theo had never before put ‘Luke’ and ‘reliable’ in the same category before, but here they were. Having Nell in his head might be too unsettling for her to fully accept, but she got the sense that he understood her better than Steve or Shirley did, and would follow her into any crazy supernatural situation they came across.

Now, though, he was completely off and she suspected that Nell – or her sudden, mysterious absence, more to the point – was to blame.

He hadn’t responded to her questions, so now she was trying to think of subtle ways that she could touch him. Maybe she’d ruffle his hair as she stood up to go to the restroom. Or ask to borrow a light, and make sure their fingers brushed when he handed it over. Shirl would kill her if she thought she was smoking again, but Shirl was currently arguing with the barista and Steve was busy typing away on his laptop, so maybe neither of them would notice.

Christ, she’d never invested so much effort into thinking of ways to touch someone before.

It wasn’t until they left that Theo got her chance. She bumped shoulders with him, and purposefully let her bare wrist brush against his. And what she felt was … nothing. Not the deep, infectious nothing that Nell’s corpse had given her, but something slightly similar. An absence.

She jumped back, staring at him. He glared back, not for one second fooled that it was an accident.

“Theo?” he said, half-question and half-warning.

“What’s going on?” she demanded n a low voice.

He hunched his shoulders defensively. “Nothing. Just … she needs some space.”

“What about you?” she said. “Where are you?”

“I’m right here,” he said hollowly.

“Bullshit,” she hissed.

He hesitated. “I’m just waiting for her to come back.” At her frozen glare, he continued with, “It’s nothing out of the ordinary, okay? I’m just … having a shit day.”

He had told her, not so long ago in the guest house that used to be hers, that he had death in his head that had nothing to do with Nell. It was all him, and his depression, and his addiction. It was years of running away from childhood ghosts and just finding new ones along the way. Theo accepted that. She could even perceive that Nell helped him deal with all that bullshit, probably more than he could do all on his own. But still, she worried. Letting Luke back into her life, inside her walls, meant that she would always and forever be worried about him.

Throwing subtlety to the wind (she was shit at it, anyway), Theo grabbed his arm and let some of his emptiness sink in, until she could feel the dregs of Luke – his guilt, his fear, and his quiet, stubborn strength – rise up through the murky blackness. “Wait for her, then,” she told him. “But don’t follow.”

He looked away. “I wouldn’t.”

He was lying. She could tell. Theo felt tears build behind her eyes, and swallowed them down angrily. “Don’t you _fucking_ follow.”

He looked at her properly, and then gently placed his hand on top of hers, moving it away. “I won’t he said, and it sounded a little more like a promise he could keep.

_

With all their dawdling, they didn’t get back to Shirley’s house until the late afternoon. It had started raining again as they pulled into the driveway, but Shirley didn’t care. Steve could see the relief writ plain across her face as she stepped out of the car and met Ally’s huge, joyful hug. He felt a pang of wistfulness, but swallowed it down. It would be good to stay here for a few days. He’d spend one night in Shirley’s room, then maybe get a hotel for a week, assuming she’d let him out of her sight.

One week. Then, who knew.

Luke took off to the guest house and Theo declined Shirley’s offer of dinner in favour of going straight home to Trish. She gave Steve a quick, tight hug as she left, which felt rather awkward but welcome nonetheless.

“Call if you need anything,” she ordered. “I’ll be back … I don’t know. Tomorrow, probably.”

“You don’t have to,” he half-laughed. “You must be sick of us.”

“Like that’s ever gotten me out of anything,” she said. She glanced back at the guest house, and turned serious for a moment. “Keep an eye on Luke, okay?”

Steve frowned. “He okay?”

“Who would know. He hasn’t, uh, seen Nell much over the last couple of days,” she confessed, like it was a shameful secret.

“Not since ..?”

“The Quells. No.”

Her words made something click in his memory. He frowned. “ _I_ saw her.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah, last night. After I …” he felt himself go red, remembering what a wreck he’d been. “When I woke up. Just for a second.”

“She look … okay?” Theo said warily.

“Yeah. I mean. Aside from the obvious.”

“Okay. Well, that’s something, I suppose.” She rubbed her eyes, and Steve suddenly realised how exhausted she must be. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, and appreciated the clear effort she put into not flinching.

“Go home. Sleep. I’ll check on Luke soon.”

She nodded and gave him a tight smile before driving off. Steve watched her leave, then turned to head inside.

He stopped. Someone stood in the doorway to Shirley's home, and it made his heart pound. It wasn’t the Parking Lot Ghost, or Alanna Quell, or even his mother. All the same, he felt shock and panic rise in his throat, along with bright, painful surge of _need_.

“Hi, Steve,” Leigh said. When he continued to gape at her like a dead fish, she sighed and walked down to join him in the rain. “You look awful.”

“What,” he croaked. Clearing his throat, he said, “Are you really here right now?”

“Yes,” she said patiently.

“There … there’s no car …”

“Kevin picked me up,” she said. After a moment’s hesitation, she took his hand. “I think we should talk.”

He nodded dumbly and followed her back up to the deck chair. Inside the front door, he saw Shirley quickly turn away and usher her kids back inside. Steve waited until Jayden and Ally’s chatter had faded back upstairs before turning to Leigh. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon,” he said softly.

She shrugged. “What can I say? I was sick of waiting on the end of the line. I may never use a phone again, Steve, do you realise that? The last few days have taken years off my life.” She inclined her head matter-of-factly. “I suppose if you want something done right, then you fly across the country to do it in person.”

Her tone was light, but all Steve could feel was crushing guilt as he remembered his last words to her. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “Leigh, I. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t myself.”

“I gathered as much,” she said.

“I know I promised to stop with, with the walls and the lies and everything, but … so much has happened. I don’t even understand it myself. I just don’t trust myself right now.”

“Will you trust me?” she asked.

“I want to,” he whispered.

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the rain fall. Leigh sighed and looked down at her hands. “Did you mean what you said?”

“No,” he said, and was surprised at how immediate it was. Somehow, despite all the conflicted feelings he’d shared with Shirley, he suddenly knew that for a fact. “I said that to … distance myself. In the moment. But I … I do want kids. A lot.”

“Why the distance?” she asked. When he didn’t answer immediately, she leaned forward urgently. “Steve, what's happened to you?”

He snorted. “More than I realised. I …” he stopped, looking out over the front yard. Standing in the misty rain, barely corporeal, he could see his friend from the parking lot. The boy tilted his head at him, as if interested in hearing him finish. The spectre didn’t evoke fear, exactly; merely a sense of resignation. He forced himself to continue. “I told you I got a vasectomy because I was worried about what I’d pass on to any kid. Remember?”

“Yes,” she said tightly.

“Right. And then I thought I’d worked through that. But I still have this idea, or worry, I guess. The thing is, it’s not just blood that gets passed down. It’s choices, and decisions, and people just repeating the same fucking mistakes over and over. My family, we … we’ve done that for longer than I realised. I used to think it would be so easy to make different choices than my dad, but really, I was just repeating his mistakes. Even the ones he made out of love.”

He again looked at the spectre, finally recognising the face and feeling the same surge of empathy that his sister had evoked in him. “There’s some mistakes I have to unlearn. So they don’t get repeated.”

Leigh was quiet for a long moment. Finally, she squared her shoulders and turned his head to face her. “Steve,” she said. “I’m having a baby. One way or another, it's going to happen. I want to do it with you, be a family, but I’ll do it on my own if I have to. Do you understand that?”

He nodded, slow and painful. “I do want to be a part of it.”

“I know. I always knew that. But wanting something isn’t enough, is it?”

“No,” he said.

“So here’s what we do,” she said, taking his hand. “You tell me everything that’s happened. Tell me how I can help, and take as much time as you need. But I’m going to start on this path by myself. If you can, or when you can … you can join me on the road. Okay?”

It wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Steve knew that it wasn’t fair to her, but as usual, she was right. Leigh was patient and she always waited, but in the end, she made the hard choice. Now it was up to him to catch up. “Okay.”

They embraced tightly, and he felt another piece of _home_ slot into his skin. Over her shoulder, he saw that Chris Quell had disappeared. That didn’t matter. Steve knew he’d be back.

_

Luke had expected to feel more settled once he got back home. He was at least hoping that this numb, empty feeling would pass, although he’d resigned himself a few hard days. After all the intensity, a crash was expected. Maybe Nell was feeling the same way, just in her own undead fashion that he didn’t really understand. Next time he saw Theo, he’d try and talk to her about it more.

That night, he tossed and turned for hours before finally falling into an uneasy sleep. He kept seeing Nell in the parking lot, panicked and distant. Then he saw her at their place in the woods, pacing back and forth between the trees. He kept calling out to her, but she couldn’t seem to hear him. As the evening wore on, the shadow of a house grew behind her, getting bigger and bigger until it engulfed her completely.

He’d had this dream before, when she’d first alerted him to Steve being in danger. He’d seen his brother trapped in the House, in the Red Room, and in a dark basement, pierced through with needles and knives. Now Steve was safe, but Luke was still so very afraid.

“Nell!” he finally yelled, and that made her look up. She was scared, but her mouth was set into a flat, resigned line.

“Time to go home,” she whispered, and turned to walk inside.


	21. Precious Things: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the comments last week, and the birthday wishes :)
> 
> This chapter is friggin enormous, and it's only part one. It's also much weirder, non-linear at times, and slightly trippy. I look forward to hearing what you think of it.
> 
> Specific trigger warnings for suicidal thoughts and discussions (more than usual, I think?) and self-harm.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Nellie asked Luke one day, in their fort in the woods.

He shrugged. "Sure."

She wrapped her arms around her knees, picking at the tiny scratches and flecks of dirt on her skin. "Sometimes I forget myself."

"How do you  _forget_ yourself?" Luke asked, dubious.

"I don't know. Things aren't in a straight line anymore, so I can't just look back and remember what came before. All the building blocks are just ... knocked over." She swept her arm out, wrecking an imaginary Lego tower. "And sometimes I can't find them all."

He thought about this for a moment, frowning. "I used to feel like that, too. Except I wanted to, because looking back and remembering was hard."

"I know," she said.

He pried a yellow button out of the earth and handed it to her. "Here. Pretend this is a block."

She scrunched her face up. "This is a button."

"Use your imagination, Nellie," he scolded her. "Pretend it's one of your building blocks. That time when you helped me sneak back in the bedroom window. Remember that?"

Nellie curled her fingers around the button, and the memory bloomed beneath her skin. She grinned. "You were so drunk."

"So were you!"

"Yeah. I was jealous you went without me, so I stole Steve's beers and got drunk by myself in my room instead. It was  _gross_."

"Trust me, the vodka was worse."

"I'm surprised you remember that at all!"

"I do because you did." he rubbed his nose. "You remember things for me, and I remember things for you. That's how it works. We hold on to each other's stuff until we need it again."

Nellie smiled and pushed her head into his shoulder. "Thanks for being my handbag, Luke."

"Hey!"

_

They were painting a new wall today. Nellie was excited because Daddy was letting her help. Mommy had needed some convincing because she had a very specific vision for the House, and besides, the work areas were still dangerous. Sometimes the House still grumbled and fought back against the changes they tried to make, causing unexpected shakes, rumbles and bits of falling debris when Daddy hammered nails into invisible pressure points. But Daddy and Mommy were determined to make this place their own, and the work kept them busy and settled, so It acquiesced.

Still, Nellie knew she had to be careful. Mommy had put her in her oldest hand-me-down clothes and Daddy had given her a hard hat of her very own, so she felt very responsible. Steve used to help Daddy work, but Steve wasn’t here, so Nellie would be as helpful as she could.

“Ready to get to it?” Daddy asked, handing her a brush.

“Yes!” she said, accidentally getting a few flecks of paint on her coveralls. Since they were already covered in Shirley and Theo’s stains from years ago, she figured it didn’t matter too much. “What colour are we using?”

“Uh … Swan White,” he replied, squinting at the pail. “It’s an off-white, almost cream.”

Nellie wrinkled her nose. How many types of white could there be? They were all boring, anyway. “What about the next room?”

“The same. Sorry.” He tapped her affectionately on the hard hat. “We can paint your room a different colour if you like.”

“Purple?” she said hopefully.

He sighed. “Sure, Sweetie.”

They worked for a while on the corners and edges, building a frame. Then Daddy showed her how to hold the roller and move it across the wall. It was harder than it looked, but he was endlessly patient with her. Slowly, the vision started to become a reality.

Part of Nellie knew that this would not translate to the real world. The House would never look like _their_ house, at least to anyone who might walk in without knowing any better. She also knew that they could keep working on this for centuries (and very well might, at this rate), and they would never be finished. Still, they could carve something for themselves amongst these carnivorous walls. Something that would last forever.

“That’s looking good, don’t you think?” Daddy asked, stepping back to admire their handiwork. He tripped over a can of paint and made a noise of alarm, hopping around to stay on his feet.

“Daddy!”

“It’s okay!” he said, then looked at the mess of white spreading across the floor. “Oh, hell _._ ”

He hurried to clean it up while Nellie handed him rags and sponges. When it was as good as it was going to get, he straightened up and planted his hands on his hips, sighing. “That was embarrassing,” he said.

“Do you want me to find more paint?” she asked.

“No, no, I’ll get it. You wait here, okay? If your mother asks, tell her it was that moron with the hat.”

Nellie hid a grin. “Okay, Daddy.”

He went off to get them more supplies, leaving her alone in the room. It was one of the second-floor bedrooms, which they’d never really used. It had always sounded kind of loud to Nellie, but both Mommy and Daddy had assured her it was okay. She trusted them to know. Still, as the minutes dragged on, she became aware of a low sound from the corner of the room. Nellie froze, her ears straining. The longer she stood there, the louder it got. At first it was a low hum, but she gradually realised that it was more of a close-lipped wail, full of pain.

Her heart in her throat, Nellie turned around. At first, she didn’t see anything. The walls were bare and the bed was draped in old sheets. There was an old, empty closet in the corner, right next to the window. Then, as her eyes adjusted to the low afternoon light, Nellie saw a figure hunched over on the bed.

The brush slipped from her hands and clattered to the floor. This didn’t seem to bother the figure. When Nellie looked closer, she saw that it was woman-shaped, dressed all in black. She rocked back and forth on the bed, her shoulders shaking.

Nellie stared, torn between fear and curiosity. The other residents of Hill House did not appear to her much. Besides Mrs Dudley and Abigail, Nellie had only ever caught glimpses of the dozens of people who had lived and died within its walls. She heard them whispering sometimes, but barely ever saw them. It had been a surprise to find that ghosts could haunt other ghosts, as surely as the living could haunt the dead and vice versa.

Suddenly, the ghost on the bed stopped rocking, and her head turned around to face Nell’s general direction. She was wearing a black veil over her face, but beneath it, Nellie could see her eyes were flat and white. _“Two months_ ,” she said.

Nellie swallowed, feeling her heart race faster. Was it a warning? A premonition?

The ghost curled back inwards, clutching at something Nell couldn’t quite see. “ _We only had two months_ ,” she said, and resumed crying.

Curiosity won out. Almost without thinking about it, Nellie stepped over the white splash of paint on the ground, and approached the bed. As she got closer, the woman’s features shifted and solidified, until she looked almost normal. Alive. Nellie glanced down, and saw that she was clutching a framed photo in her hands.

“Is that you?” she asked.

The woman’s hands tightened over the frame, but she held it out slightly so Nellie could see. The photo was of a young couple dressed in simple, neat clothing. The woman was wearing a veil and clutching a small bouquet of flowers. The man’s smile was not quite hidden by his old-timey moustache. She wasn’t wearing white, but Nellie could tell it was a wedding photo all the same.

“It’s nice,” Nellie said. “Is that your husband?”

The woman gasped through her tears. “He was in a motorcar accident, just two months after. He was on his way here to pick me up from work. I’d finished all the chores. I was waiting for him.”

“I’m sorry,” Nellie whispered. She realised that she was no longer wearing her sisters’ old coveralls, but a lace wedding gown. Memories rose to the surface of her mind, sharp and stinging. Arthur in his suit. Arthur in her bed. Arthur, dead on the floor. Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. Some days it was easy to pretend that she’d stayed a little girl forever and never met him. But he was always there. “I got almost a year. It wasn’t enough, though.”

The woman met her eyes, and they were still eerily white and dead, but Nell had the sense that she was being seen and acknowledged. It was one moment in time, shared across years, the unique grief for a love cut short. Nell found herself reaching out, suddenly desperate to be understood.

Then the woman’s face crumpled once again, and she disappeared. Nellie was left holding the framed photo in her hands.

“Nellie?” her dad said, looking at her from the doorway. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

She wanted to run to him, fold herself in his warm arms and be small again. But something kept her frozen in place, trapped in the cold shadow of that woman’s grief. “Daddy,” she asked. “Do you want this to be our forever home?”

He sighed and set the new tin of paint down. Her dad could shroud himself in work and old hopes and dreams, but at the end of the day, he was more alive than any of them. He’d relinquished himself to this House of his own free will, made a deal with It, and in every moment he knew exactly what he’d scarified, and why it was worth it. “This _is_ our forever home,” he said, his voice heavy. “Whether we want it or not. All I can do is make sure we’re happy here.”

“And the others?” she pushed. “Do you want to make it nice, for when they come home?”

He said nothing, looking away.

“Do you want them to come home?”

“I …” He sighed again. “It’s not about what I want, Sweetheart. I don’t know if they’ll come back here one day; it’s up to them. Is that what you want?”

Nell clutched the photo to her chest, feeling the ache of loss – not just for Arthur, but Luke, Shirley, Theo and Steve. Death still separated them, even from this side of the wall. She missed them more than words could describe. And yet … “No.”

Her dad smiled sadly. “Yeah. Me neither.”

_

Ever since she was small, Nellie had sought comfort in the tangible. She loved objects that she could hold in her hand and turn around, looking at them from all their dirty or unseen angles. She took buttons and watches and lockets and cups of stars, held them close to her chest and whispered secrets to them in the dead of night. People left, or they disappointed. Possessions never did.

“Would you like milk with your tea?” she asked of the little girl sitting before her, sharing a tea party out on the grass.

“No, thank you,” Abigail said.

A tea set meant something special. It was a ritual, a comfort, an indulgence. Sometimes it was a murder, but Nellie refused to spend her endless days in fear of tea parties, so she made it fun and special. She told Abigail that she didn’t have to partake in the tea if it scared her, or brought back bad memories, but Abigail was never afraid. Abigail was, perhaps, the bravest person she had ever met.

The sun was high and warm, casting them in late autumn shadows. The two of them sipped their tea and spoke of the weather, or of home renovation.

“Nellie,” Abigail asked, putting her teacup down in its saucer. Nellie appreciated the gesture, and its sense of purpose. “What’s it like to be a grown-up?”

Nellie ran her fingers around the rim of her cup, pouting as she thought. “I don’t know. It’s hard, I suppose.”

“Hard?” Abigail tilted her head at her.

“I was never very good at it,” Nellie confessed. “I was always sad and scared. I called my sisters all the time and made them tell me it was all gonna be okay.”

Abigail listened and then she thought about what Nellie said. Them decisively, she said, “I wish I could be a grown up.”

Nellie smiled sadly. She thought again of her wedding day, a memory that was now almost as sweet as it was bitter. More than that, she thought of all the little moments in between; sex in front of the TV, debating religion and philosophy, talking about their families in the quiet space between night and dawn. Things a child wouldn't, and shouldn't, understand. “I wish you could, too.”

They sat and sipped their tea for a while longer, until Abigail’s mother started calling for her to come home. She put her tea down and clambered to her feet. “I gotta go. Thanks for the tea, Nellie.”

“I’ll see you next time,” she replied.

Abigail grinned and then ran off, fading into the distance. Left alone with her dregs, Nellie sighed and flopped back on the grass. Living with ghosts was weird, because she always caught herself grieving for them, and the lives they might have led. Sometimes she grieved for herself.

Nellie picked up Abigail’s teacup and held it next to her own cup of stars. The girl’s china was smoother and cleaner than her own, but there was a darker rim around the edge. She never cleaned it. She was quick and sneaky in her own way, always looking for an escape. Nellie found herself falling in love with the teacup, curling it into her chest. Struck with sudden inspiration, she stood up and wandered into the woods, holding it carefully in her hands.

There was a fort in the woods, made of trees and bark. Gathered in the shadows, buried in the dirt, there was a burgeoning treasure trove. There, she kept a handful of buttons, her dad’s watch, her mom’s locket, some broken crayons, a pair of moth-bitten gloves, a few faded photographs, an old paperback novel, and a framed wedding picture. With reverence, she placed the china teacup amongst the clutter, scraping some dirt over the base of it to keep it stable. She wanted to put her cup of stars there too, but she needed it.

Nellie stood up and tucked her own cup back in her pocket, looking around in case Luke might appear. But she knew better. He had other things to worry about right now. Her job was to make sure he had a safe place to come back to.

Satisfied, Nellie turned around and made her way back to the house.

_

Sometimes Nellie got caught in cycles. She’d relive the same bad memory over and over again, or get hung up on little things that never got resolved. Stories she started but never finished, promises she never kept, or one of many arguments that were swept under the rug to fester. It wasn’t always the House’s fault; Nell thought maybe death was just like that sometimes. To break the cycle, she’d go find her dad, or spend time with Luke for a while, asking him to tell her things she'd forgotten. Sometimes all she could do was clutch her cup of stars tightly in her hands and count to seven until things made sense again.

When her mom got caught in a cycle, she couldn’t seem to break herself out of it. She limped around the halls for days and weeks, not seeing her husband or child, looking for children that had long gone. Sometimes she lay in bed with her eyes closed, like Sleeping Beauty, except she didn’t look like she was sleeping. Occasionally, she wore red and whispered to the walls, her eyes bright and feverish.

Her dad told her just to give it some time, but Nell didn’t like to wait. So she asked Mrs Dudley one day, when she found her in the kitchen.

“When I was a little girl, my mother became unwell,” Mrs Dudley told her as they washed and dried dishes together. Abigail was sitting nearby, holding her baby sister and humming to her. “My father was busy working, so was up to me to look after her.”

“What did you do?” Nell asked.

Mrs Dudley sighed. “She was very sick. There wasn’t much I could do, besides ease her discomfort. I brought her tea, and with every spoonful of sugar – she always liked it far too sweet, you see – I’d say a prayer for her.”

Nell wrinkled her nose. “Did it work?”

“It didn’t stop her from dying,” she said. “But I do believe it eased her soul when I brought it to her. We would drink tea together and share happy stories. It always made her smile, every time, even when I thought she must have forgotten how to do that.” Mrs Dudley turned to Nell with a serious look. “Remember, we are talking about your mother’s soul, not her body. I do believe that prayer and faith will help her.”

Nell looked down, biting her lip. She hadn’t believed in prayer for a long time. Sensing her dejection, Mrs Dudley paused in her duties and picked up Nell’s cup of stars from the washboard. “Here,” she said gently. “This helps you feel better when you are unwell, doesn’t it?”

Nell nodded, taking the cup.

“Why is that, do you think?”

“Because … it’s mine. It reminds me of me.” Nell frowned, not sure how to explain herself. “I always had a cup of stars, even when I grew up. It made me feel safe.”

Mrs Dudley nodded. “Safe and happy memories can be just as powerful of prayer. Perhaps your mother needs to be reminded of what that is like.”

Nell clutched the cup, filled with sudden hope. “Could _I_ do that, do you think?”

She smiled, looking unusually fond. “I believe you could do just about anything you set your mind to, Eleanor. You saved your siblings, did you not?”

“Daddy did,” she said. “Mostly.”

“Well. I’m sure between the two of you, your mother is in very good hands.”

Nell thought about that for a long time, turning her cup back and forth in her hands as Mrs Dudley and Abigail disappeared and she was left alone in the kitchen. Deciding there was nothing to lose, she made some tea. As it brewed, she poured pretend sugar into the teacup. With each teaspoon, Nell thought of a memory from many years ago when she was alive and very, very young. It was so long ago that she struggled to hold the details in her head. But the essence of the memory – her mom holding her, laughing as they strung buttons together on a piece of string – was true and uncorrupted by anything that came later.

Once the tea was made, Nellie held the tray carefully in her hands and made her way across the house, towards her mother’s bedroom.

“Mommy?” she said.

There was no answer. The room felt empty. Nellie took a deep breath and forced herself to be brave. She set the tray down on the bedside table and turned on the light. “Mommy,” she said, more forcefully. “I made you tea.”

Her mother’s silhouette appeared in the corner, then, facing away. “Not now, sweetie,” she whispered. “Mommy’s not feeling well.”

“I know, and I want to help you feel better,” Nell said. With some effort, she approached her mother as an adult, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Come sit with me, please.”

After some coaxing, her mother came to sit on the bed. Her eyes were still a million miles away. Against her pale skin, her veins looked very dark. Nell handed her the cup, and she took it with trembling hands, looking at it with some confusion. “This … this is your cup,” she said.

“Yes, it is.” Nell smiled and framed her own hands around her mother’s, holding the cup between them. “Here, I made it special. Please have some.”

Her mother looked like she was humouring her, but that was better than ignoring her. “Alright, Sweetheart.” She took one sip, then another, and perhaps it was Nellie’s imagination, but she seemed a little steadier.

“Mommy,” she said. “Do you remember when we made button necklaces?”

Her mother’s brow furrowed. “No, I don’t believe I do. Are you sure we did that?”

Nellie bit down on some frustration, because that was the House speaking. Or perhaps it wasn't; after all, Nell had been spiralling for years before she died.  _Did that really happen? Are you sure? Don’t you suspect it was something worse?_   She heard those voices when she was trapped in her own cycles, unable to tell the difference between dreams, nightmares and reality. “Yes, Mommy,” she said. Then, boldly, “It was before we moved here. Back at that old house with the ugly green wall. We sat outside while Daddy was painting, and made button necklaces. Mine was pink and purple, and yours was –”

“Blue,” he mother said. Then she smiled and looked at Nell like she was seeing her for the very first time. “It was blue.”

_

“Luke?” she said. “What’s your best memory of Mommy?”

He frowned and pushed his glasses up his nose. “I don’t know. I don’t have many.”

“Can you try and think of one? Think really hard. Ask the others. I need to know.”

“Why?” He looked concerned.

“Because I need to help _her_ remember,” she said honestly. There was no use in lying.

“Oh. Okay.” He tilted his head, and for a moment they were back in his room. He was drawing on the desk, but had turned his chair around to face her. “Is this because she’s not well?”

She folded her arms around herself and nodded.

“Are you okay?” he asked, standing up to face her properly.

“Of course.” She smiled and turned to leave before he became tainted by her worry.

_

When Nellie was alive, she spent so much time thinking about death. It made sense, now, knowing that her own death had been there all along, hanging above her head, but she didn’t know that at the time. As a teenager, her thoughts had scared her, so she’d buried them down. After Arthur, she stopped caring. Suicidal ideation was constant, even casual. A silly kind of fantasy. She’d think of different methods while brushing her teeth, or promise herself that it was always an option during a stressful day at work. When Theo stopped talking to her and Steve’s attention was divided, she’d wonder how they’d feel if she never woke up, how sorry they’d be. It was so petty and selfish, but if no one knew, then what was the harm?

Nell had never come close to following through on these thoughts. For one thing, she was a coward. For another, she knew that being dead wouldn’t give her the satisfaction she craved, because she wouldn’t be around to see her family mourn her (ha ha.). But mostly, she’d stuck around because Luke would need her to be there when he finally came back.

Luke never wanted to die. Nellie had always known that, although she suspected that he didn’t know it himself up until the moment where his heart had stopped in the Red Room, and he was backing away from their tea party in growing horror. Nell was proud of him. If it hadn’t been for his rejection, that tiny, fierce spark of _no, I want to live,_ she might not have had the strength to bring him back.

When Mommy had died, she’d woken up. Nellie was forced to watch it sometimes, when her mom wanted her to understand. She’d picked herself up off the floor and walked away, leaving all the fear and guilt and pain behind.

When Nell had died, there was no sudden awakening. No moment of freedom or relief. She’d hung there for hours, days, weeks and years, her mind slowly unravelling as she fell through layers of time. She relived all her horrors and found new ones. She saw her family suffer and die, over and over again. She watched them grieve for her and there was no triumph or satisfaction or even relief, because she felt their pain as if it was her own. As she hung, the rope creaking as she swung back and forth, Nell saw the truth of all things, and it drove her past the point of living sanity. But it was still the truth.

For just a moment, Nellie saw the House for what it was, and It saw her. Then It tucked her way in the Red Room, content to let her digest while It set Its sights on Luke, Theo, Shirley and Steve. Nell had fought. She’d banged on the door and gone to her siblings, trying to warn them. The House had paid her no mind, as It still got what It wanted.

Then she’d brought Luke back. It had noticed that. It hadn’t been much, really. If Daddy hadn’t made his sacrifice, Luke would have died anyway, and probably the rest of them, too. Still, in that moment where she wrapped her arms around her twin and pulled him back to life, feeling her own lungs burn as he gasped and spluttered, Nellie had her small victory. She’d felt the House turn its sights inwards to focus on her, this little animal squirming within Its stomach, and Nell had been afraid.

Nell was so often afraid. But she’d been afraid her whole life. She was adept. She could manage.

_

She got glimpses of the others, sometimes, independent of Luke's contact with them. Theo dancing in the kitchen. Shirley bent over a corpse with dedicated precision. Steve, though … Steve was hard to see. He’d glimpsed the true face of this House, just like her, and he’d shut the door firmly behind him. Nell found it hard to open.

“Daddy,” she asked while they painted. “Why did you make Steve keep your secret?”

Her dad paused, looking quietly regretful. “Because someone has to, Nellie.”

“Why?”

“So no one else gets hurt,” he told her firmly.

“But why _him_? Why only him?”

Her dad sighed and rubbed his eyes, looking older. “He’s tough. He can handle it.”

Struck with sudden anger, Nellie threw her brush down. It clattered and bounced off the ground. Her dad blinked at it. He didn’t look mad, but he was surprised. Nellie was surprised, too; she could remember the last time she threw a tantrum. “Nellie?”

“Is this our home, or not?” she demanded. “Why try to hard to fix it if we won’t be responsible for it?”

“Nellie,” he said sharply. “It might be our home, and we can make it nice for us, but we can’t _change_ it. No one can. It’s still dangerous.”

“Then what’s the point?” she asked, and stormed out.

_

She got angry sometimes, at everything that had happened. Her mother had fear and grief. Nell had fear and grief and _rage_. It spilled out of her in small, childish bursts, making her kick over paint cans and rip apart the wallpaper. Sometimes it went deeper and darker than that, eating away at her like a cancer. Her veins bloomed black and her mind cycled through endless hangings. The creak of the rope ticked by in her mind like a doomsday clock.

She tried to keep it at bay. For Luke’s sake, if nothing else. She clutched her cup and counted sevens and she tried so _fucking_ hard not to let herself get pulled under.

She found Poppy in the library one night, when she was looking for her mother. The woman stood up from her armchair like a cat, all grace and sinew. “Well, look who it is,” she purred. “Little mouse, in from the cold.”

Nell stopped short. Poppy was unlike the other ghosts in this place. She was rarely seen, and even then, only when she wanted to be seen. The woman slunk towards her, smiling.

Nell forced herself not to react, remaining wide-eyed and childlike. “Have you seen my Mommy?”

“Your Mommy needs her rest,” Poppy taunted. It must be a bad day for her as well, because sometimes Nell felt sorry for this woman, but here, she was all poison and knives.

“I want my Mommy,” Nell whispered.

“’Course you do, Sugar,” Poppy said. She stroked her finger across Nell’s cheekbone, leaving an icy trail in its wake. “We all want our mommies, but we don’t always get what we want.” She fit her hand around Nell’s chin. “I heard you’ve been collectin’ things.”

“So what if I have?” Nell demanded.

Poppy’s lips were very red, stretching around her teeth in a beautiful grin. “There are a lot of fragile things in this house. You need to be careful.”

“I am careful.”

“Still,” Poppy said. “You’re just one more little thing. So fragile, so … decomposable.” Her hand tightened.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Nell said. “You’ve already killed me.”

She tutted. “So angry. Young ladies don’t get angry, don’t’cha know?” She turned Nell’s face back and forth, examining her from all different angles. “It does nasty things to our brains. Makes us all topsy-turvy. We can’t tell our ups from our downs, and trust me, Sugar, it ain’t no fun when you’re floating all alone in the dark. It'll drive you insane.”

“I’m not alone,” she whispered.

“Oh, of course. Little baby Luke, always there, leaning on that old door.”

At the mention of Luke, Nellie’s hands balled into fists. Poppy saw this and looked delighted. “Oh! There it is. Are you going to break something else, now? Will that make you feel better?”

“Get away from her,” Olivia demanded, suddenly appearing behind Nell. She sounded more like herself, as she always did when there was something to fight for and defend. Poppy smiled and left without a fuss, but Nell knew better. She could see wild eyes peering at her from the shadows as her mother gathered her close and led her back to the warmth.

_

It had been another surprise, finding out that ghosts could dream. Nell had a dream, once. It was of a young girl, one she'd never met before but who looked so familiar. She lay on her bed and listened to music, scowling. Nell watched her curiously. The girl wasn't dead, but she had death in her head. So much of it, in fact, that it had spilled out and ran down her arms, leaving bloody scratches and sharp pinpricks. In the dream, she picked up a stuffed giraffe and picked a razor out of its stuffing. Nell looked away, her heart thumping, before she could see the cut. It was too familiar for Nell, too raw.

A horrible dream. Still, before Nell woke up, she glanced at the girl again and recognised Luke in her eyes. She was hurting, she wanted to escape, but she didn't want to die. That was something.

_

Time passed. Some days, her mom was well and present; other times, she was unhappy and distant. Tea became a ritual for the two of them, a time to partake in happy memories and bittersweet truths. Nell told her mom about Arthur, about her job at the vet clinic, about the dumb stories she used to write. She told her what Theo, Shirley, Luke and Steve were up to. She talked about her mom’s grandchildren.

One day, Nell made the tea and brought it to her mother’s room, but she wasn’t there. She hadn’t seen her mom in a while, so Nell didn’t know where else she might be. Frowning, she set the tray down and went looking. She wandered the halls, searching each room, the shadows growing dark and large around her. The more she looked, the more she started to panic. Eventually she broke out into a run. Her feet led her up the staircase, towards the Red Room.

Here, she stuttered to a halt, panting. The door was open, and her mother was inside. But she was not alone. Steve sat on her lap, looking young and vulnerable as he leaned back into her arms. Her mom’s eyes were feverishly happy as she held him close, rocking and humming. When Nell looked closer, she saw that her mother was injecting him with something. The floor beneath them was littered with tiny razor blades.

All this time, Nell had been worried about Luke. He’d died in this place, he was as tied to it as Nell was. The others, they had lives and families beyond this House. Luke didn’t. Steve, he had this terrible burden that their dad had given him, but he was older and so far away. Nell had just assumed that he was fine.

No. No, he was not fine.

Nell took a step forward, then another, until the red door drew closer. Her fear gave way to anger, and then fury. How _dare_ , she thought, her hands balling into fists. How dare this place keep sinking Its claws into her mother, how dare It try and take her brother, how dare, how dare, how dare …

She felt Its eyes turn inwards as she broached the doorway, seeing her again. But she didn’t care. “I said no, Mommy,” she growled, and something shattered.

_

Everything after that became too much. Too bright, too loud, too alive. She’d forgotten what that felt like.

Nell could not reach Steve, so she galvanised Luke into action. She stayed close by him on the journey, even though the strain of it, along with her panic, made it hard to communicate. But she still stayed. She had to help, and to understand. Luke drew on her for courage, and she leaned on his stability. First, they went to the lake house with Theo, and watched their big sister hold the past in her hands, airing the dirty secrets in their bloodline for all to see. Nell let herself slip through time, back to where little black veins started to spread through their family. What she found was more cycles, all the same pain and fear and guilt and anger, over and over again.

In the Quell house, she finally found Steve and saw that he too was splintering, just like her. Just like Mom. They were more similar than she'd ever realised. There were knives and needles in his skin, and all his pain was spilling out. She drew him in close, cradling him like her cup of starts, like a handful of buttons or a book or a photo, keeping all the precious pieces together. She reminded him that there was no without, and no alone.

Nell could never make the Red door open, but Steve opened it himself. He let them in. Nell was proud of him.

For just this one moment in time, the five of them were together again. Her laugh echoed around Luke’s head, strong and euphoric, as they all left to go home. _Home_ , she thought, pausing to reflect on the word, but it wasn’t Hill House. Hell, it wasn’t anywhere, but it was _them_ , and it was _her_ , and she would never forget that for as long as she existed.

Then the woman appeared. Alanna. Mommy’s cousin, or her shadow, the one caught in her own awful cycle. She was hurting so much, and it made her hurt others. There had been too much of that, and Nell wouldn't take it anymore. Not from the House, not from her mom, and not here. She felt fury building beneath her skin, darkness rushing through her veins, and when Luke rallied his own fears, she did not try to stop it as it burst out from beneath her skin.

“ _There are more things in Heaven and Earth,_ ” she told Alanna, the woman with a small mind and big fears and no earthly comprehension of what mattered in life or death. “ _Than are dreamed of in your philosophy.”_

As soon as they were safe, her fury vanished. There was a rush of air, a sickening _crack_ , and she was left swaying in the emptiness, dead and alone all over again.

_

She drifted for a while, scattered and exhausted. It took her a while to find her way back home. When Nellie finally got back to the House, her mother was waiting for her at the door. Somehow, her presence made Nellie shrink back, ashamed.

“What is it, Baby?” Mom said patiently.

“I … I did a bad thing,” Nellie said, scuffing her feet through the dirt.

“What was that?”

“I got angry and I threw things around. I scared some people,” she said.

“Oh, Baby,” her mom said, gathering her close. “Did you save your brothers and sisters?”

“I think so,” Nellie said, sniffing.

“Then it’s okay. You did good.”

Nellie buried her face inside her mother’s bathrobe. It was blue and soft. Then she felt her father’s hands close around her shoulders. She sighed and let some of her tears fall, knowing that, in this moment at least, she was safe.

“Sweetheart,” her mom said after a while, sounding concerned. “What’s that on your hands?”

Nellie glanced down, confused. Her hands were dusted with black spots. “I got them dirty,” she said. Sorry.”

“It’s not dirt.”

She glanced up, her eyes wide. “What?”

“Silly girl. It’s going too fast to be dirt.”

“It’s not …” But as Nellie watched, she saw the black begin to spread across her skin, webbing across her fingers and down her wrists. She scrubbed at them frantically, but it wouldn’t stop. Nelle held her arms out in horror. “Mommy!”

“I told you,” Poppy said, suddenly. She appeared over her mother’s shoulder, peering down at Nellie. “Anger don’t do girls like us any favours at all. Now you’ve gone and made yourself sick.”

_Some souls were born rotten_ , Nellie remembered as the darkness engulfed her, and she screamed.


	22. Precious Things: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another super long one! Thanks for your patience, guys x

“It’ll be alright, Sweetheart,” her mom said as she tucked her securely into bed. “I know you’re not feeling well, but once you’ve had some rest, everything will be fine.”

Nelle coughed, black dust clogging up her lungs and throat. She looked down at her trembling hands, watching spores bloom across her skin. It felt like they were digging deep, eating away at all the soft flesh underneath. Nellie knew something bad had happened, to make her feel this way. She knew that _she_ had been bad. But she couldn’t remember; everything was so hazy and dim. “Mommy,” she whimpered. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh, shh.” Her mom tucks her hands under the covers and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I know, I know it hurts. But I’ll look after you.” She smiled down at her fondly. “You’re always looking after Mommy, so now it’s my turn.”

Looking into her mom’s warm eyes, Nellie felt herself relax. She smiled tentatively.

“That’s my good girl. Now. You get some sleep, and I’ll be back up soon. We can have tea.”

Nellie glanced around the room sleepily. The walls and toys were all very familiar, but something was off. “This isn’t my bedroom,” she mumbled. “Where am I?”

“Oh! It’s your toy room, Sweetheart. I asked your dad to put a bed up in here, so you can be surrounded by all your playmates while you get better.” She leaned forward conspiratorially, tucking a stuffed horse into Nell’s bed. “I know being sick can get boring. Mommy’s a bad patient, too.”

Nell looked to the side, where another small bed was set up. “Who’s that bed for?”

“For Luke, of course. I know the two of you can’t be apart for too long. He’ll be up to keep you company soon.” Her mom tilted her head to one side, considering. “Unless one of your other siblings gets sick before that. Then they can sleep there, too.”

Something was wrong. If only she could remember what happened. Her thoughts scattered around the problem, but couldn’t make a proper landing. All she knew was that she felt sick, and scared, and wanted her brothers and sisters here to make it better. “I miss them,” she said, staring at the neatly made, empty bed.

Her mom smiled sadly. “I know, Sweetheart. Me, too.” She stood up and made her way out the door. “Try to get some sleep.”

Nellie tried to sit up, suddenly panicked. “Mommy! Don’t leave!”

“I’ve got some work to do, but I’ll be back later.”

She struggled against the bedsheets, feeling suddenly restricted. “Then I want to see Daddy.”

Her mom sighed, a touch impatient. “He’s busy too, Sweetheart. I promise, we’ll both be up to see you again soon.

Nellie managed to tumble out of bed. In her nightgown, all the spores on her arms and legs were visible. The sight of them made her feel nauseous, and she nearly tipped back over. “Wait, Mommy, please.”

But her mom was shutting the door. “Back to bed, Sweetie.”

“Mommy!” Nellie gathered her strength and ran towards the red door, just as it slammed shut in her face.

_

Nellie tried to open the door, but either she was too weak or Mommy had locked it. Eventually, she gave up and went back to bed, sniffling.

Time passed. Mommy never came back, despite promising to make tea. Sometimes she thought she heard whispers from just outside, or footsteps echoing around the room, but no one appeared. Finally, after what felt like centuries, Nellie’s solitude was interrupted by a tiny knock on the door. Nellie glanced up hopefully, her breath rattling around in her chest. Maybe Mommy had finally returned. After a pause, the door creaked open, and a pale face peeked inside. It wasn’t Mommy.

“Oh. Hi, Abigail.” Nellie pulled the bedcovers close to her neck, hoping to conceal some of her blackened, rotten skin. “Sorry, I can’t play tea parties with you today. I’m sick.”

Abigail stood just beyond the threshold, her hands behind her back. “I know. My mommy told me. She said not to come, because I might get in trouble. But I wanted to bring you something.”

Nellie sat up a little, curious despite herself. “What is it?”

Abigail, brave as always, took a couple of cautious steps into the room. She then placed a teacup on the foot of Nellie’s bed, and then backed away. Nellie scooted forward to pick up the cup. It fit neatly into her small, stained hands, and though it was empty, Nellie felt warmer just holding it. Memories echoed in her mind, pale and golden, bleak and bittersweet. Some were far away, others were closer. Nellie remembered her siblings in trouble. She remembered getting angry, screaming and breaking things, and her mother’s disappointed face.

  _Spirits live in limbo until they go rotten_ , a familiar voice echoed in her mind. It wasn’t Mommy, but it sounded like her. _But some souls are born rotten._

Nellie put the cup down and brought her knees to her chest, wishing she could forget all over again.

“What’s wrong?” Abigail said.

Nellie sniffed and rubbed her nose. “You shouldn’t be here, okay? I’m sick. You could get sick, too.”

Abigail just stood there, staring impassively. Nellie glanced behind her at the door, which she’d closed behind her. “How did you get in, anyway? Mommy locked it.”

The girl shrugged. “I just could. Maybe ‘cause I was sneaky.”

Of course. Abigail was so small and quiet, the house – the House, Nell reminded herself, remembering the weight of these walls all over again – wouldn’t see her as a threat. Nellie used to be like that, but then she messed up, and now It had Its eyes on her. It had sunk Its claws in, just like It did to Mommy, and now she was infected too.

“You might be able to leave too, if you want,” Abigail suggested. “If you’re quick and quiet like me.”

Deep inside Nell, there was a space that smelled like old trees, dirt, and watercolour paints. She’d locked it away when Mommy took her to the Red Room, an instinctive reaction to protect Luke, who lived there. Now, she felt him try to reach out to her. He was confused, worried, scared. Nellie ached to make contact with him, but she couldn’t. Not here in this room, and not while she was like this.

To Abigail, she said, “I think I’ll stay a while, until I feel better.”

She wrinkled her nose. “My mommy said you won’t get better in here. She said you should get some fresh air instead.”

Nellie’s Mommy had told her the same thing, once upon a time. It seemed like she’d changed her views since then. Nellie picked up her cup again, running her fingers over the stars and wishing they would help her feel more like herself. “Not now. Sorry, Abigail, I just can’t.”

Abigail said nothing. When Nellie glanced up, she saw that she’d disappeared, and Nellie was left in the room by herself.

_

It was strange, being tied to one place. Nell was so used to being fractured across time and space, drifting from moment to moment like a mote of dust. She lay in bed for a while, trying to sleep like a real girl, but it was impossible. Now that she’d felt Luke once, he was impossible to ignore. He kept prodding at her, demanding answers. Not only that, but she kept getting snatches of thoughts, feelings and words from the others – Steve, Shirley and Theo. Something had changed. Nellie had been able to visit them before, but the connection had never been this strong. It terrified her, how close they were, which meant they weren’t far from home.

Nellie curled up on her side and pressed her hands over her ears, trying to block them out. She hummed to herself, sung old songs and recited movies that she’d learned by heart, once, when such things had been her only comfort. Eventually, the silence and solitude returned. It pressed against her from all sides, and Nellie tried to sink into the dark, empty nothingness that she’d become used to. It wasn’t sleep, but it was the closest she could get, these days.

When Nellie next managed to rouse herself, the room was dark and the house was still quiet. But something caught her attention, a movement within the house that was unfamiliar, unexpected. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up in bed. (She was never paralysed anymore. Mommy wasn’t completely wrong; being here made some bad things go away. If she never slept or dreamed, then there were no more little spills. Of course, she sometimes wondered if her entire existence was just a spill – a nightmare that had overflowed.)

Nellie waited and listened, her heart pounding. Then she heard it; someone crying.

A lot of people cried in Hill House. But this one was different, and too familiar to ignore. Nellie felt herself drawn to it.

Nellie climbed down from her bed, the ground cold against her feet. Mommy had told her to stay and rest, but if she was quick and quiet like Abigail, then Mommy wouldn’t know. Holding on to her cup of stars for strength, she made her way across the room and put her hand on the door.

When she’d been a real little girl, all those years ago, no one had ever been able to get into Nell’s toy room. But she’d been able to let herself out, once it had had its fill. Nellie knew that it wasn’t done with her yet, but she would be back soon. In the meantime, she had to be like her younger self, and like Abigail – small, silent, non-intrusive. Just a tiny animal in the belly of the beast. Thinking of herself this way helped, and Nellie found that she was able to open to door. She took a deep breath and let herself out into the hallway. The door remained open a crack.

Nellie started making her way through the house. All was dark. There were no eyes watching her from the shadows, or whisperings in the walls. The house was lying dormant, pretending to be nothing more than an empty carcass in the woods. Nellie knew it better than that.

A noise echoed down the hall. Nellie ducked into another room, suddenly terrified. “Abigail?” she whispered.

There was no answer, but a moment later, the noise came again. Nellie realised it was a sob. The same one she’d heard in her toy room. Warily, she peered around the doorway.

There was a girl at the end of the corridor, silhouetted in the moonlight streaming through the stained glass window. She was shivering in the cold, her curly hair a halo around her head. Nellie felt a strong jolt of recognition, and found herself creeping closer. “Shirley?” she whispered.

The girl glanced frantically back and forth, unseeing. Her eyes were blank and white. “Hello?” she cried out. “Is anyone there?”

“Shirley.” Nelle hesitated. She didn’t want to taint Shirley with her darkness. But her sister looked so scared and lost, and Nellie knew there were more threatening things in this place than her. So she reached out and took her hand. Shirley fingers clenched tightly ( _one hand holding Nell, the other holding Kevin, teeth clenched in pain as she gave birth to a screaming baby boy)_ but her eyes remained unseeing. Her face was scrunched up in confused terror. She looked so young, whereas Nellie felt old. She used her free hand to cup Shirley’s cheek. “Shirley, you shouldn’t be here.”

“I just followed,” Shirley babbled. “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I just want to go home.”

“What did you follow?”

“The giraffe,” she said. “It ran all the way across the grass, and I had to see where it was going.”

“Oh,” Nellie said, slightly bewildered. “Giraffe. Okay.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Shirley, it’s okay. It’s just a dream.” She looked at her sister in wonderment. “You’re dreaming.”

At the other end of the hall, a door slammed. Mommy stepped into view, her robe sweeping across the floor. Struck with sudden panic, Nellie dragged her sister into an empty bedroom and locked the door behind them. She then wrapped her arms around Shirley’s shoulder, gathering her close.

“Am I really dreaming?” Shirley whimpered.

“Yes,” Nellie said. “But we need to be quiet.”

“ _Shirley?”_ Mommy’s voice said, just beyond the door. “ _Baby Girl, where are you?”_

Nellie pressed Shirley’s face into her shoulder and backed away. “Shh, it’s okay,” she whispered. “Just close your eyes and you’ll wake up soon.”

“ _Where did my girls go?”_ Mommy said.

Nellie closed her eyes and squeezed tighter, feeling guilty. But Mommy wasn’t herself right now. Just like with Steve, she might not want to let go of Shirley, and Nellie knew that couldn’t happen. Eventually, her mom’s footsteps faded away.

Shirley squirmed. “Why are we outside?” she murmured.

“What?” Nellie glanced up, but they hadn’t moved. “We’re not outside.” Nellie hadn’t been able to get outside for a while – every time she tried the doors, they were all locked.

“But I can see the stars,” Shirley told her, her eyes shining bright and gold-white in the darkness, before she disappeared. Nellie was left alone once again, holding her teacup.

_

“I had the weirdest dream last night,” Shirley said, pressing her mug of coffee to the side of her head.

Kevin paused, halfway through pouring milk into Ally’s bowl of cereal. “You never remember your dreams.”

“I don’t,” she said.

He handed Ally the milk as she started complaining, and went to sit beside his wife. After everything she’d told him about her past, or hell, the events of the last few days, he could forgive himself for feeling slightly paranoid. “What happened?”

“I was back at the House,’ she said, staring into the distance. “Nellie was there, I think. Nothing happened, but … I don’t know. It was just weird.”

“Anything else?”

She squinted. “There was a giraffe.”

“Uh.”

She blinked and shook herself out of her sleepy reverie. “Never mind, Honey. Oh, hell, is that the time?”

“You said hell!” Ally said, delighted.

“No I didn’t,” Shirley said, getting to her feet and clearing away the dishes. “Hurry up, okay? Being late for school for the last couple of days is the _exception_ , not the new rule.”

“Hon,” Kevin said as she shooed the kids upstairs. “Do you think you should tell your sister?”

“About what?” she said distractedly.

“The dream.”

“What? No, of course not. It’s nothing.”

“ _Hon_.”

She sighed, exasperated. “Fine, look, I’ll let Theo know when she comes over tonight. It’s not exactly urgent.”

“And Steve?”

“Steve? Oh. Yes, I suppose he’ll be here, too.” She looked uncomfortable for a moment, and Kevin didn’t really blame her. He wasn’t used to thinking of Steve as _close_ in any capacity, whether it be physical or emotional. But it was coming up on week two since they’d gotten back from Maine and the man didn’t look like he was about to vacate his hotel any time soon (oh, to have such large amounts of disposable income), so Kevin expected that he would be around for dinner as well as Theo. Kevin would have to make extra meatballs.

“You all good to meet the Burnhams?” he asked. “They’re in at ten.”

She scoffed. “Of course.”

_

Once she was sure Shirley had gone and her mother had stopped looking, Nellie went back to her toy room. While she’d been gone, it seemed that the rot had gotten worse. When she pulled the front of her nightie up, she saw that her tummy and the top of her right thigh was almost completely black. When she pressed her fingers to it, it felt dry and crumbly. Like ashes.

 _“Nellie,”_ Luke’s voice called out from across the void. Nellie shoved him away.

She played with her toys for a while. This was a good distraction until she grew disgusted with herself and threw her stuffed horse at the wall. A movie flickered in her mind, just like the old video tape at Aunt Janet’s house, snowy and staticky from too many rewinds. Her favourite. Sarah wishing her baby brother away. The Goblin King lounging on his throne, pretending to be powerful. Sarah chasing him around a grand, illogical staircase that defied the laws of gravity. A girl in the junkyard, lost and stupid, clinging to little remnants of her childhood in a desperate bid to feel safe again.

“It’s all junk! _”_ Nellie whispered, throwing more of her toys around. Her fingers closed around her teacup and she almost threw that, as well. But she stopped herself at the last minute and looked at the it, her rage fading. She thought of her stash in the woods, in that special place where she tucked away the things that mattered to people – her family, Abigail, even others.

No. It wasn’t all junk. Some of it was symbolic. It meant something important.

 _“You ought to be more careful,”_ Poppy told her once. _“You might be dead already, but if you fight too hard and steal too much, then you won’t like what happens next. See, this place has a way of makin’ you smaller. Drivin’ you insane.”_

_“It already did that.”_

_“Oh, but you’ve got no idea, Sugar. The depths than you can sink to.”_

But what Poppy didn’t say, and what Nell already knew, was that death by its very nature was insane. Nothing was solid or linear. It was all symbols and shapes and words and memories so intense that they swallowed her whole. Nell knew she sounded incomprehensible to Luke sometimes. She dreaded to think of how the others would see her, without him there to ground her.

Meeting Shirley in the house had been like that – incomprehensible. It was like a riddle or a code that she didn’t have all the symbols for. Everything was symbolic. David Bowie in _Labyrinth_ was symbolic (for Nellie’s puberty, mostly, but other things as well). Her cup of stars was symbolic, and somehow, her sister dreaming of her, and this place, was symbolic as well. Nell didn’t know what it all meant, but she did know that it was important.

Nellie pondered this for a while. Her Mommy still didn’t come back. She became aware of something in the corner of her room, flashing brightly in the dark. It looked like a star. Feeling a jolt of hope, she rushed forward to take a closer look. The light turned out to be a tiny hole in the wall, half-hidden by cracked plaster and torn wallpaper. It flickered tentatively as she approached, but did not disappear. As Nellie drew closer, she heard whispers coming from the empty space.

 _“Theo, how many times have I told you? When you take my car keys, you put them_ back _in the key bowl!”_

_“You called me at work to complain about your key bowl?”_

Nell flinched back. No. No, no, no. Luke was bad enough; she couldn’t put the others at risk as well.

 _“Fine, fine. I’ll see you tonight, anyway.”_ Theo sounded tired. Nell bit her lip, curiosity and longing outweighing her fear. She bent down and peered through the hole in the wall.

Theo was in her office, mid-morning sun streaming through the shutters. She was sitting up at her desk, typing away at her laptop. She was wearing gloves; Luke had told Nell that she hadn’t done that much since moving in with Trish, but maybe this was an old memory.

Theo seemed distracted. She kept glancing around the room, her finger tapping a steady rhythm on the desktop. Eventually, she sighed and shoved herself away from the laptop. Nell watched her as she paced back and forth for a few minutes, before opening one of her desk drawers and taking something out. It was a drawing, Nell realised. Probably belonging to one of Theo’s patients. She watched, fascinated, as Theo flattened the paper across the desk and slowly, methodically, removed her gloves.

Theo had always understood the value of objects. Nell had always loved and sought comfort from certain objects, but she was only now starting to scratch the surface of how powerful they could be. How _symbolic_ they were. Theo had never been wholly comfortable with her ability, but she still used it to help others. Nell wished that she had been that brave, in life.

With careful precision, Theo’s fingers traced the black lines and coloured shapes, frowning in concentration.

Something rose within Nellie, like a part of her was awakening from a long, sluggish dream. It felt warm, like tears on a check, like hands holding hers, like the connection she’d felt with her siblings for that one moment before she’d manifested in the Quells’ home. Nell held her chest, confused. She looked closer at the drawing, and realised that it wasn’t created by any child. It was Luke’s work. It was _her_.

“Come on, Nellie,” Theo muttered. “I know you’re there.”

Nellie felt a sudden tug in her chest, and had to brace herself against the wall to avoid getting drawn forward. _“No,”_ she hissed, summoning every scrap of strength she had to resist the urge. Theo didn’t know what she was trying to summon. She couldn’t know.

A sob escaped Nell, the strain of staying away almost too much to bear. _“I said no!”_

For just a second, Theo glanced up and her eyes widened as they met Nell’s. With a cry of effort, Nellie wrenched herself backwards, away from the other world in the wall and her sister’s hands. When she looked up again, the light had disappeared.

_

When Theo got back from her little family vacation up north, the first thing she’d done was kiss her fiancée senseless. Then they’d had sex. Then, while answering work emails, Theo had taken note of all the weird shit that had somehow appeared in their apartment. It was cluttered with books, mostly, but also an assortment of crystals, talismans, and other stuff that Theo couldn’t name. Trish, when asked about it, had been unapologetic.

“Hey, listen. You told me to get anything that would help, even if it was rocks and Ouija boards. Marie told me some of this stuff would help.”

“I did, didn’t I,” Theo said wearily, thinking that, between Nell’s manifestation at the Quells’ place and whatever the fuck was going on with Steve, they were going to need a lot more than Marie Leland could provide. “Thanks, babe.”

Now, after her encounter with Nell in the office, Theo realised she was overthinking it. Luke could reach out as much as he could, and so could she, and so could Steve, for that matter, but in the end, the dead had their own decisions to make. Nell had been there, but she’d pulled away. Theo wasn’t sure how she knew that, but she did. Which meant that it was up to Nell to get over whatever bullshit she was dealing with, and meet them halfway.

Theo didn’t have much faith in Nell’s ability to do this. She was a Crain, after all, deceased status notwithstanding. So if Theo had to bully her into it, then she would. That evening, before they left for Shirley’s place, she and Trish swept a whole bunch of new age-y bullshit into a bag and hauled it to the car. Maybe it would help. Maybe it was just a placebo effect. But Theo was going to cover all of her bases. She would do what she needed to, and hopefully, Nell would do whatever she needed to do as well. They would get this shit sorted, together, one way or another.

“Hey,” Trish said, linking their hands together over the stick shift. “You got this. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Theo said, tightening her grip.

_

Things were wrong. They were _wrong._ Nellie paced back and forth within the limited confined of her room, her hands over her ears, blocking out the voices. She wished the space around her was smaller and it complied, giving her a closet in the back of the room. Nellie saw it and felt elated, relieved. She stumbled towards it, intending to bury herself inside and make herself tiny. Unfortunately, a gap in the floor appeared before she reached the closet, and she fell through, into a halo of golden light.

When she landed on her feet, she was facing a bed. Luke sat up, breathing heavily in tandem with her. He was on a top bunk, surrounded by other men, each of them cold and shaking and filled with longing. Nellie glanced around herself, bewildered and afraid.

“Nellie,” Luke said, wonderingly. He threw the covers off and hit the floor, catlike despite his size. “Is it really you?”

“Yes?” Nellie said hesitantly, still stuck on the fact that she was in Luke’s most recent rehab centre. He would have escaped Hill House not six months ago. This was before Shirley’s guest house, before Steve, before the Quells. Nellie had seen herself here in Luke’s memories, but she hadn’t been able to remember it. Everything was off-kilter.

“Are … are you okay?” Luke said, taking a step closer. He was sill wracked with addiction and poison, fain tremors coursing through his skin. But he wanted to know that _she_ was alright. Nellie felt a strange rush of bittersweet warmth beneath her skin, and stumbled forward to meet him. Their hands touched, wary and barely corporeal. In the moment, it was enough. “Where have you been?”

“Home,” she whispered.

“Should I come see you?” he asked, still in that tenuous limbo-space between addiction and recovery. Nellie felt his self-loathing, the sense that he was irrevocable sick and tainted. She felt it so strongly that she ached. She wished he was in the room with her.

“No,” she breathed, standing close. “No, you need to stay away.”

“Nellie …”

“ _Promise,”_ she said, the spectre creeping through, gaunt and broken. Nellie hadn’t let her loose since the Quells’, but it was enough, here, to keep Luke on the right road. He went stiff, frozen in fear, but he didn’t step away. “ _Promise to stay away.”_

He agreed, tentatively, and the promise reverberated throughout the next few months, into the future. Nellie felt it echo beneath her skin. It took her back to Luke-of-the-present, to Steve-on-the-bathroom-floor, to Theo-in-her-office and Shirley-in-her-dreams. There was a reason she was here, Nell remembered. She was holding a door closed, keeping her siblings out. Keeping them safe.

“I miss you,” Luke said, interrupting her forward-echoes. “I still don’t think I can do this on my own.”

“Meet me in the woods,” she told him, letting him into that space in her mind, with the golden light filtering through the branches and sticks. “It’s our place. Go there, when you think you can’t keep going at all. But never come all that way back to the House. Okay?”

He hesitated, but her conviction was strong enough for the both of them, in that moment. “Okay.”

 _“I’ll hold it for you until you need it again_ ,” she heard, and managed to return the favour with a quick, grateful hug. She was cold and he was warm, but they were both solid, and that was what mattered. “Thank you.”

_

Luke shot up in bed, gasping for air. One look out the window told him he’d fallen asleep mid-afternoon again. Shirley would be pissed.

He checked his phone and found three messages from Steve – two of them asking about the best places to get Uber Eats from, one asking if he would be free on Saturday to help move a fridge. Luke wasn’t surprised. He’d already offered to move in with Steve for a three month lease, since Shirl had agreed to pay his share of the rent. Steve had refused and insisted that he would prefer to live alone for the short period that he would be on the East Coast, but Luke had the feeling that he’d be over a lot anyway.

There were times that he missed LA. Moving heavy furniture and whitegoods in the bright, hot sunshine was not one of them. Thank Christ for the misty autumn mornings.

Abruptly, he remembered that Shirley was having Theo and Steve over for dinner that evening. Before going inside to the main house to make himself useful, Luke took a quick shower and changed into a different pair of jeans. As part of his daily (hell, hourly) routine, Luke reached out for Nell. She’d still been avoidant since Maine, and he was starting to get pissed.

To his surprise, he got a strong surge of emotion in return. Bittersweet, melodramatic, purely emotive declarations of love. She didn’t appear or talk to him, but it was the most he’d gotten in days. Tentatively, he made sure she knew he loved her, too. Nonverbal communication wasn’t his forte, but with Nell it was easy enough.

Trish had promised to conduct some kind of séance tonight, once the kids had gone to bed. Maybe it would be easier than Luke had thought.

_

When Nellie got back, tears were streaming down her face It took her a while to realise why. Then, it hit her. She missed Luke. She missed all of them. They were so close, closer than they’d ever been before, in life or death. But somehow, still so far away.

She clambered to her feet, small and crumbling with black mould. It stemmed from a wound in her chest, bleeding out, creating damp rot that spread outwards across her skin. Nellie pressed a hand to her stomach, where the original wound was. Her hand came away red, not black.

“Okay,” she said, her voice starting soft and ending in a growl. “I get it. This is where it starts, and where it ends.”

There was no answer within her room, but Nellie knew it was listening. She could almost hear the walls breathing, a steady heartbeat within the veins of the House. “Listen,” she said. “I’m not afraid of you. I was once, but not anymore. And never again. There are things in this world that are worse, things you’ll never understand.”

She thought of Luke’s addiction, and the things he had faced over the years. She thought of Shirley’s nightmares and Theo’s young patients, dealing with violence and fear and assault before they were old enough to know what it all meant. She thought of Steve, who had guilt in his heart and tremors under his skin. Braver than he knew. She thought of herself at age thirty, normal and scared and trying for a life of happiness, knowing full well that it could come crashing down around her at any time. And it did. It crashed. But she didn’t regret it, not for a single moment.

As Nell thought of all these things, the House started to shake. Perhaps It was angry, or perhaps _she_ was; it didn’t matter anymore. She stood in the centre of the Red Room and glared up at the walls and ceiling, daring it to challenge her further. Let it break her; she was already broken. She still wouldn’t play by its rules, and neither would her siblings.

Spots of light appeared around the room. She spun around, her eyes searching. She saw Shirley braiding her hair, Theo teaching her mindfulness techniques, Steve dancing with her at her wedding, Luke drawing with her. She saw Arthur, studying late at night, drawing her close as the stiffness crept into her bones. She drifted upwards, her feet leaving the ground, and all the lights spun around her, shooting stars in an infinite sky.

Something in the House went _crack_ under the pressure, and Nellie fell into darkness.

_

She opened her eyes and was met with a very strange sight; Theo, Shirley and Luke, clustered around Steve on the bed as he muttered and cried out in terror. They curled in close, uncaring of whatever resentments lurked beneath the surface, and comforted him through the nightmare. In her mind’s eye, she saw what he saw – the helplessness, the restriction, the paralysis – and wished for nothing more than for him to be well again.

She heard herself say, in some bathroom in some moment in time, “You don’t have to do this alone, Steve.”

He was disbelieving, but here they all were. Connected as one, Crains against the world. Steve’s eyes opened and met hers, and they shared a brief moment of understanding and relief, before she faded away.

_

Nellie woke up in her toy room, curled up on the hard, wooden floor. She felt hungover, slow and sluggish. Something made her glance up. In the corner of the room, there was something different. A stuffed animal. Old, well-loved. A relic of someone’s childhood, but not Nell’s.

Drying her eyes, Nell stood up and went to the corner of the room and picked the toy up. It was a giraffe, she realised, though aged and threadbare. It didn’t belong here. It had a history that did not belong to this House. Nell tumbled the well-worn fur and felt a childhood’s worth of foreign emotions. It made her remember all the treasures she had stashed in the woods, keepsakes of lives well-lived. Memories that couldn’t be corrupted. Keepsakes.

Nell squeezed the giraffe in her hands, a grin breaking out across her face. Objects had value. Symbols were important. She understood, now.

The red door cracked open. “Sweetheart?” her mom’s voice said.

She curled up tighter around the giraffe and didn’t reply.

“Baby, why are you on the floor?” her mom asked, kneeling down beside her. “Here, let me help you.”

“You left,” Nellie whispered.

Her mom’s hands paused, still against her skin. “Just for a little while, Sweetheart. So you could sleep.”

“To get better,” Nellie concluded.

“Yes,” Mommy said. “That’s right.”

Nellie pulled away, and rose to her feet of her own accord. She looked at her mother, who was kneeling beside her. “Mommy,” she said. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”

Her mom’s face fell into a fond smile, and she palmed Nellie’s cheek. “You’ll always be my little girl.”

With some effort, Nellie pulled her mom’s hand away, gentle and firm. “But I’m not just yours, Mommy. I’m … all these different pieces.” She beheld her mother’s confused expression and sighed, wanting so badly for her to understand. “I’m your daughter. And a sister. And … and a wife. A widow. But I’m just me, too. Silly and childish, and, and creative and sweet. Bitter and resentful. Scared. Angry. Rotting from the inside out.” She held up her hand, watching the mould travel and spread across her skin.

“I know, I know,” Mommy said, grabbing her hand tightly. “I know it’s scary. I’m going to help you.”

“You can’t, Mommy,” Nellie said sadly. “Your missing your own pieces.”

“What are you talking about?” her mom asked, confused and wary.

Nellie held her teacup out, tilting it so that the stars shone in the light. “This is one of my pieces,” she explained. “I have one for Luke, and for Shirley, Theo, and Steve. I have one for Abigail, too. And others. Maybe I’ll find one for everyone in here.”

“Where?” Mommy said curiously, her eyes bright and feverish. “Where do you keep them?”

Torn with guilt, Nellie choked out, “I can’t tell you where, Mommy. I’m sorry. I can’t trust you.”

Her mother looked scandalised. “Eleanor Crain! Don’t you talk you me like that!”

“Vance,” Nellie snapped.

“What?”

“I got married, Mommy. I married a man named Arthur. We had a life together, even though it was short. Do you see what I’m saying? I’m not just your little girl, and I don’t belong _just_ here.”

Mommy stared, speechless. Nellie gripped her arm, leaning forward earnestly. “Don’t worry. I’ll find your piece too, Mommy. I promise.”

“Nellie,” her mom breathed, sounding devastated.

She pressed a kiss to her mom’s forehead, suddenly as big as her, suddenly as adult. “I love you,” she whispered, and left the room.

The halls were dark and empty. Nellie made her way through the house, humming and mumbling and dancing. This place, this large, empty corpse containing hundreds of other corpses – it was her home. She was trapped here, yes, but it was her home. One day, maybe, she would find her way out of here. In the meantime, she would make it hers, and she would make it _nice_. Just like Mommy and Daddy wanted. And she would not be afraid.

Somewhere out there, Theo danced, Shirley worked, Luke reflected, and Steve wondered what would happen next. Nellie watched them and felt so proud. Things were hard and they always would be. But they were strong. They would handle it.

Nellie tipped herself over the banister and fell slowly downwards, her hair and dress billowing lazily around the stale air. It felt almost like freedom.

Something tugged low in her belly. Unlike before, she wasn’t afraid, and she didn’t resist. She followed the pull, trusting that it would take her somewhere safe.

When she next opened her eyes, it was to the sight of Steve, Shirley, Theo, Luke, Kevin, Trish, some girl, and some lady that she didn’t know. They were all staring at her with their mouths hanging open. The purple crystal in Theo’s hands slipped and fell to the floor.

“Oh,” the strange lady said, breathless with wonderment.

Nell blinked. “Oh," she replied. "Oh, _shit."_

_

Several hours ago but not two blocks away, a girl got off a bus. She shouldered her duffel bag, her knees buckling under the weight of it. Somewhere in that bag, there was a stuffed giraffe, along with several items of clothing, a sensible amount of tampons, and a shitload of makeup. But the girl wasn’t thinking of those things. She was too busy finding her way. First she checked Google Maps, looking around the neighbourhood with a critical eye. Then, with some vague destination in mind, she began to walk.

The streets passed by, clogged with brown-red autumn leaved. The wind was strong and cold, but no colder than home, further up north. She sniffed decisively.

Eventually, the girl came across a nice, white suburban house. She sighed, already hating everything, and stomped towards the front door.

A lady in a blazer answered it, professionally pleasant smile on her face. The girl recognised it immediately, and couldn’t help her face from falling into a shrewd smirk. “Hi,” she said. “I’m looking for Steven Crain?”

The woman’s face fell. “Oh, shit,” she said.


	23. Absences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy St Patrick's Day! This chapter was a bit delayed due to work commitments etc (also, some new interests popping up, which I'm trying not to get too invested in until this is done). Thanks for your patience :)

Theo glared at the hunk of rock in her hand. The rock stared back, enigmatic and unforthcoming.

“When is this supposed to work?”

Trish tilted her head. She was sitting on the sofa, watching Theo with keen interest. “Well, that depends. Are you feeling calm and meditative?”

“Not really.”

“Then just keep trying.”

Theo sighed and dropped the crystal onto Luke’s drawing, causing it to crease into the carpet. She leaned back on her hands. “This is a waste of time.”

Trish closed her eyes briefly. Theo got the distinct impression that her fiancée was praying for patience. “Babe, we talked about this. The crystal is not the tool. _You_ are the tool. It’s just there to help you focus your own energies and talents.”

Theo made a face. She was a very pragmatic person; even her ability was tied directly to the tangible and the physical. All this talk of ‘energy’ really grated on her sensibilities. She fiddled with the edge of the drawing, frustrated. “I don’t get it. It worked in the office, without the stupid rock. Nell was there.”

“Maybe that was because she wanted to be?” Trish suggested.

Theo snorted, thinking of her sister’s wide, panicked eyes. “Didn’t look like it.”

Trish tapped her lip, considering. “You could ask Luke to try.”

“No. That would defeat the purpose. I’m trying to talk to her myself.”

“Well, what about the others, then? Maybe you should all try it together. I mean, you all have some kind of connection with her, right? Maybe it will just take a group effort!”

“Oh, Christ. We’re not so good at ‘group efforts’.”

“You were last week, when you went to get Steve,” Trish pointed out.

“Yeah, okay, but that was … more of a tactical emergency response. They’d never go for all this bullshit,” she said, gesturing at the piles of books, crystals and internet printouts.

“You could still ask.”

“Maybe,” she said vaguely.

“I think it would be worth a try. You guys all care about each other, when it comes down to it.” Trish got up and walked to the kitchen. “I’ll make some herbal tea, maybe that will help. Keep meditating!”

Theo groaned and picked up the rock again. It still felt like a waste of time, but Luke still looked miserable and empty last time she saw him, in a way that scared her. And that quick vision of Nell in her office had been scary too; not because she was a ghost, but because she was Theo’s little sister, and seemed to be in trouble. Theo was so done with her siblings being in trouble. She was willing to try just about anything.

_

Steve stood in the centre of his new apartment and tried not to hate it too much. It was a nice, two-bedroom place, spacious and modern, and situated in a decent suburb. It wasn’t home, but it didn’t have to be. Home was still back in LA, with Leigh. She’d gone back three days previous, to get on with her life and wait for him to get his shit together. Steve missed her more and more every moment. He’d been seconds away from buying his own ticket and going back with her, three-month-lease and strict family planning be damned. But she’d given him a look and he’d let the idea go. If nothing else, she was entitled to a little space from him after everything he’d told her, and Steve was trying very hard to be considerate of his wife’s needs right now. It was enough of a miracle that she was still his wife.

He sighed and planted his hands on his hips, trying to think of what else he would need in the way of furnishings. It was really too big for one person, especially for such a short period of time. Shirley had urged him to get one with a second bedroom in case Luke was ever over. Steve couldn’t imagine that ever being necessary. Shirley lived a bare twenty minutes away, and Theo was even closer, though in the opposite direction. It hadn’t been an intentional move, but he felt slightly … bracketed by them. In his worst moments, he found that comforting. The rest of the time, he found it deeply irritating.

_Three months_ , he reminded himself, but even that was far from a guarantee. What if three months came and went, and there was still no end to the headaches, the nightmares, or the ghosts? What if this was just his life now?

Steve groaned and tried to force those thoughts out of his head. Today was actually a good day; his headache was barely there, and he’d managed to sleep through the night without having to call Leigh or his sisters. As for his ghostly friend from the motel (or, as he suspected, from the Quells’ place), Steve hadn’t seen him for a couple of days. Maybe tonight he’d be able to get some writing done.

One good day. One day at a time. That was all he could rely on at this point, and it would have to be enough.

Steve glanced at his watch, and suddenly realised he was running late for a lunch date with Theo (and what an odd concept that was). He swore to himself and rushed to get out the door, leaving his little halfway-home behind for the time being.

_

Steve had a very loose idea of timekeeping, which made sense, given that he was a self-employed writer who worked ‘whenever the inspiration struck’. Theo knew and accepted this about him when she agreed to meet, so she refrained from getting too upset when he arrived at the café twenty minutes into her lunch break, looking frazzled. Theo waited for him to spot her and make his way over to the table.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “Traffic was a bitch, you’ve got no idea.”

“I got some idea. I live here.”

“Yeah, okay, but Shirl told me you used to drive home for lunch every day so I assumed it would be easier.”

She shrugged. Her lunch trips back to Shirl’s had required careful planning, creativity, and a certain kind of sadomasochism. Looking back, it did seem a little ridiculous. But she still kind of missed it sometimes. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, pushing a coffee towards him.

“Oh, thank Christ. I mean, thank you.”

“Rough night?” she asked, eyeing the bags under his eyes. He looked a lot better than last week, but that was a pretty low bar to clear.

“Just getting used to the new place. You know.”

“Okay.” She sipped her coffee and decided to take that at face value for the time being. “No gloves today?” she observed.

He clenched his hand and released it, looking uncomfortable. “Hasn’t been necessary.”

Theo resisted the urge to sigh. His extreme hyper-sensitivity seemed to have disappeared since he wasn’t in direct danger anymore, but she really doubted that it was gone for good. In her own experience, not every object or individual had an emotional imprint attached to it, but the things that did were impossible to predict. Everything was fine and normal until suddenly it wasn’t. That was Steve’s life in a nutshell, though.

Theo thought about pushing the point, but she didn’t want to spend her lunch break arguing with a grown man about what he did or didn’t wear. He’d learn soon enough.

“So how’s work,” he said, clearly eager to change the subject.

Theo talked about some of her clients, making sure not to give any identifying details, of course. Steve was highly interested, often asking questions about their condition or presentation, and Theo was torn between flattery and discomfort. Eventually, she tapered off, and her mind returned to that moment in her office the other day.

“You been seeing that kid?” she asked, interrupting his questions about the child with emerging BPD symptoms.

He paused. “Kid?”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “The one from the motel.”

“Oh. No.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yep.” He took a long sip of his coffee, tilting it up to avoid her eyes.

Theo sighed. “Look, I know you don’t want to talk about all this shit. I don’t either, frankly. But you’re here, so, you know. We might as well deal with it.”

He rubbed his eyes with one hand. “I know. I’m not trying to be evasive.”

“And yet it just comes so naturally,” she said.

He shot her an offended look. “I’m serious. Haven’t seen him in days. Haven’t had … _this_ in a while.” He waved his hand in the air briefly. “Honestly, there’s a lot about the whole thing I don’t even remember. It was like it never happened. Or, like I was a whole other person. It wasn’t _me_.”

He was looking at her, looking desperate for her to understand, and Theo was thinking of words like _dissociation_ and _hypervigilance_ , and she honestly wasn’t surprised. At the same time, though, Steve’s ability to bullshit himself into dis-remembering certain traumatic events was legendary, and she had to make sure that he wasn’t doing that now. “It happened, Steve.”

“Yeah. I know that. I just don’t … believe it. You know?”

She inclined her head, acknowledging the point. There were times when she didn’t believe in her own bullshit either, even though it was her lived experience.

He sighed and leaned back, looking defeated. “Can we talk about this later?”

Theo would have quite happily agreed to that. But something else needed to be said, first. “You should know. I saw Nell the other day.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Yeah. Only for a second. I was looking at one of Luke’s drawings of her, and she just appeared.” Theo neglected to mention that she’d actively been trying to – well, summon her, for lack of a better phrase. “She looked all scared and shit. It worried me.”

“Why would she be scared?”

“I don’t know. I want to find out.”

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t you just ask Luke?”

“No, see, he still hasn’t been seeing her at all. And that _really_ worries me.” She stared off to the side, contemplating. “You know, when he told me they were still in each other’s back pockets, I didn’t like it. I thought she might be bad for him. Not on purpose, of course, but. She’s _dead_. And dead things that don’t leave Hill House can be dangerous. You know.”

Steve stared at her. “She’s not _dangerous_.”

“Again, not on purpose, but …”

“No,” he said, and it was the most forthright she’d heard him sound in a while. “Look, I don’t remember everything that happened last week, but I remember her. She was trying to protect me, protect _all_ of us actually, and she succeeded.”

Theo sighed exasperatedly. “Yeah, okay, I get that. I’m just saying, when I first heard about it, I was concerned. But this lady I met, she told me …”

“What lady?”

“I don’t know, some fucking psychic that Trish knows. Just shut up, okay, I know how it sounds. Anyway, she suggested that I should be worried _for_ Nell, as much as I worry for Luke. Seeing her the other day just reaffirmed it. There must be a reason why she’s trying so hard to stay away.”

Steve thought that over for a minute. “Okay. What do you want to do about it?”

Theo hesitated. She hadn’t planned to ask Steve to participate in this. But maybe Trish was right, and it would really be worth a shot. “Well, okay. So, Luke summoned Nell, right? Manifested her in the Quells’ hallway, remember?”

He closed his eyes, as if trying to repress a wince. “Yes, I do remember that.”

“Okay, so he can do that because he’s connected to her. I assume. But theoretically, we should _all_ be able to do that. Especially if we do it together, and maybe have a little help.”

“Help?” he asked, looking wary.

Theo thought of her own sorry attempts to meditate and focus her abilities. She didn’t want to scare Steve off, though, so she merely said, “Some mind-focusing techniques. It’s basic psychology, really. We just need to apply it to an unorthodox process.”

“”Unorthodox process’,” he repeated. “Theodora, are you talking about some kind of séance?”

“No! That’s stupid.”

“You want to hold a family séance,” he said, ignoring her. “Are you serious?”

Theo gave up. “Look, call it what you want. It doesn’t matter. But we owe it to her to try _something_.”

He opened his mouth and shook his head, looking utterly out of his depth. “I … I don’t know, Theo. I’m very fucking new to all of this. It sounds crazy. But …”

She raised her eyebrows, waiting.

Finally, he shrugged and held his hands up. “You know what, I’ll try anything. Why not?”

Theo nodded, choosing to ignore the slightly hysterical pitch to his voice. If Steve was willing to comply, then her hardest job was already done. “Good. I’ll tell Shirl to put her kids to bed early after dinner.”

He huffed a laugh, still disbelieving. They fell into silence for a whole, finishing their drinks. Theo hadn’t ordered any food, because she had some of Trish’s leftover chow mein in the work fridge waiting for her, and Steve hadn’t tried to get himself anything either. He still looked too thin, but that was a battle for another day.

“Look, I hate to ask,” Steve said abruptly. “I know you’re sick of me asking. But is there any more word on child services?”

Theo resisted the urge to groan. Speaking of fruitless battles … “Yeah. Look, I’m still arguing the case, but there’s only so much I can do. At the end of the day, she’s a teenager with resources and some kind of independence. Not saying that makes it right, but the system … well, you know.”

“I know.” He looked so defeated that Theo felt guilty all over again.

“I’ll keep trying,” she promised.

Steve paid for the coffee as they left. When he went to accept the change, he gave a sudden shout of alarm and his handful of coins all over the counter. He stared at his hand, wide-eyed. Theo advised the server to keep the change and dragged Steve out of the cafe.

"Money's always a risk," she told him, while he caught his breath. "It goes through so many hands, picks up plenty of horrible stories. Like bacteria."

"You want to say 'I told you so', don't you," he said grudgingly.

"Just wear the damn gloves. And pay via card in future."

_

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Shirley demanded to her phone, pausing with her needle threaded halfway through someone’s scalp. “You want to hold a séance in my living room?”

She heard Theo sigh exasperatedly. “ _I told you, it’s not a séance_. _Don’t be dramatic.”_

“Oh, _I’m_ being dramatic,” she muttered to herself.

“ _I just think we need to try something. Steve’s already agreed.”_

“You say that like it’s some reasonable point in your favour,” Shirley said. “Steve’s not exactly a paragon of rationality right now, and you know it.”

“ _Shirl …”_

“I mean, I live in a mortuary, Theodora!” she continued. “I am currently sewing up the remains of some guy who was violently murdered in a home invasion! Do you even know what kind of shit might come up if you start playing with Ouija boards? And with my kids in the house! I can’t believe you!”

“ _I know what I’m doing, Shirl. I’d never put your kids in danger.”_

“You do not know what you’re doing. Just because we’ve seen a few strange things and you met some crackpot medium, it doesn’t make you John Constantine!”

_“It’s not an exorcism either.”_

"Oh, well I guess that’s alright then,” she scoffed. “Not happening, Theo.”

_"Fine, then we’ll have dinner at my place, and do it there,”_ Theo snapped.

“No we fucking won’t! Kevin’s already made the meatballs!” She stripped off her surgical gloves and glared at the phone. Theo fell silent, probably trying to think of her next counter-argument. “Why the urgency, anyway?”

_“We made an emergency cross-country road trip to save Steve’s ass,"_ Theo reminded her.

“Okay, but Steve wasn’t already dead. What can we do for Nellie, really?” Shirley felt a tone of despair creep into her voice, taking her by surprise. She thought again of her dream the night before. It hadn’t been that bad; nothing like the terror she’d felt when Steve had been in danger. But Nellie _had_ been there. Maybe she’d been trying to tell her something after all.

_“I don’t know. That’s what I want to find out.”_ She paused for a moment. “ _How’s Luke been?”_

Shirley winced, thinking of her guest house, with its closed door and darkened windows. “Scarce.”

_“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”_

Shirley hesitated. She’d actually felt okay about Luke’s abilities, prior to the whole situation with he Quells. His connection with Nellie was strange and creepy, but it seemed to have kept him on the straight and narrow, and he _had_ saved that kid at the barbeque. After seeing him start to come out of his shell a little, it hurt to see him look so empty and despondent again. As for Nellie … “Look. It’s possible that I _might_ have had a dream about Nell last night.”

There was a long pause. “ _What the fuck, Shirl?”_

“Not a bad one! Not like before. Just odd.”

“ _Odd, how?”_

“I don’t know. There was a giraffe.”

_“… Okay. Well, that’s a good a sign as any. We’ll just give it a try, alright? It’s more likely that nothing will happen, anyway.”_

Shirley sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Theo, I really don’t feel comfortable about this.”

_“I know. Me neither.”_ There was a pause. “ _See you tonight. I’ll bring the wine.”_

She hung up before Shirley had a chance to reply, leaving her feeling frustrated and worried. She finished up with the unfortunate Mr Hargrove before making her way back upstairs. The house was quiet, with the kids at school and Kevin out shopping. Nothing but Shirley and a bunch of corpses on ice. And Luke, out in his own room.

Shirley glared out the window. She’d tried to talk to him a few times over the past week, but he’d been stubbornly avoidant, and she’d been busy with work. He got like this sometimes; it wasn’t anything to worry about. Still maybe Theo had a right to be worried about him … about both of them. Shirl groaned. First Steve, now the twins; would the problems never end?

While Shirley contemplated this, trying to distract herself with work and chores, she heard a knock on the door. Still distracted, she went to answer it.

The girl on her front porch made her stop short, her eyes wide.

“Hi,” the girl said, looking way too casual for a fourteen-year-old whose parents had kidnapped Shirley’s brother last week. “I’m looking for Steve Crain?”

“Oh, shit,” Shirley said.

The girl raised her eyebrows. “Wow.”

“I – I’m sorry,” Shirley said, shaking herself. “It’s Emma, right?”

“Yep. That’s me.” She waited expectantly. Shirley glanced over her shoulder, wondering if Emma’s parents were maybe waiting in the car. The girl huffed impatiently, shifting her large duffel bag to a more comfortable position. “It’s just me,” she said. “I caught the bus down.”

“Oh. Are you … okay?”

“Fine. Can I come in?”

Shirley really didn’t need to deal with this today. She had reclusive brothers and undead sisters and a family dinner to deal with, and Emma Quell didn’t fit into that equation at all. But she wasn’t about to turn the girl away. Smiling tightly, she stepped back and allowed Emma to enter. “Sure.”

“Thanks. Nice place you got, you know, for a funeral home.”

“Thanks,” Shirley said, trying not to close the door too hard in her panic. “How did you find my place?”

“Internet,” was the short, simple answer.

“Ah. Right.” The pitfalls of having to advertise a business that also happened to be her home address. She watched warily as Emma flopped herself down on the living room sofa, sprawling out like the owned the place.

“So is Steve here, or now?” Emma demanded.

“Well, not right this second,” Shirley said. “He’ll be here later tonight, though.”

“Okay, cool. You mind if I hang out until then?”

“Not at all.” Shirley said faintly. She cleared her throat, trying to achieve some kind of authoritative tone. “So, do your parents know you’re here?”

Emma snorted. “Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Jesus. Mom even gave me her blessing.”

Shirley very much doubted that. Sighing, she said, “Look, I want to help you, but I need to know what the situation is. Okay?”

Emma slouched down, a stubborn pout appearing on her face. “I want to talk to Steve.”

Shirley really hoped her brother knew what he’d gotten himself into. “Right. Well. I need to make some calls, but you can just sit tight, I guess.” On second thought, she said, “Help yourself to the kitchen. It’s right through there. Bathroom’s on the left.”

With that, she fled.

_

When Steve got the call from his sister, he thought she was going to make him pick up something for dinner. He was even expecting the frustrated, slightly shrill tone. What he didn’t expect, however, was for her to say, “ _Steven, do you know why Emma Crain is in my house?”_

He dropped his glasses. “What?”

_“She just turned up! Won’t say why she’s here or what’s happened, only wants to talk to you.”_

“Okay. Okay, okay. Uh, don’t let her leave. I’ll be right there.”

He hung up over her spluttered protests, and rushed to gather his things. His heart was hammering. He was concerned for her, elated that she was out of that house, and utterly terrified because what the fuck did he do now? If she’d run away, would her parents be on their way to follow? Should they call the police? What were the legal processes from here on out?

“You’re gonna get yourself killed, old man,” a droll voice said from the sofa. Steve whipped his head around so hard he heard it crack. He was less than pleased to find Chris Quell lounging around, judging him.

“Great,” he sighed. “So now you want to talk? Excellent timing.”

The boy shrugged. Now that he knew he was dead, it was very blatantly obvious to Steve. His injuries slid in and out of focus like a holographic image, but more importantly, he radiated an air of _wrongness_. Like he didn’t quite belong in this world anymore.

Steve held his arms out, feeling helpless. “So, what’s your deal? You here to get closure with your sister after all?”

Chris just stared at him for a moment. “I don’t fucking know, man. Why you looking at me like I got all the answers?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Steve muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Look, I can only deal with one of you people at a time, alright? Just … come with me if you want … uh, if you _can_. But first off I need to make sure what's going on with your sister.”

Chris didn’t seem to have a problem with that. He grinned sarcastically. “Drive safe,” he said, and disappeared.

 


End file.
